Negative Genesis
by JockoMegane
Summary: A long tale of dark Tsunamism.
1. Don't Fear The Reaper

"If you knew you were staring at the end of everything in the face, would you laugh?"  
  
"Valentine is done  
Here but now they're gone  
Romeo and Juliet  
Are together in eternity...Romeo and Juliet  
40,000 men and women everyday...Like Romeo and Juliet  
40,000 men and women everyday...Redefine happiness  
Another 40,000 coming everyday...We can be like they are  
Come on baby...don't fear the reaper  
Baby take my hand...don't fear the reaper  
We'll be able to fly...don't fear the reaper  
Baby I'm your man..."  
  
- Blue Oyster Cult  
  
"Too many teardrops for one heart to be cryin'  
Too many teardrops for one heart to carry on  
You're way on top now  
Since you left me  
You're always laughin'  
Way down at me  
But watch out now  
I'm gonna get there  
We'll be together  
For just a little while  
And then I'm gonna put you  
Way down here  
And you'll start cryin'  
Ninety-six tears  
Cry  
Cry"  
  
- Question Mark and the Mysterians.  
  
For my father.  
  
Tenchi Muyo - Negative Genesis  
Part 1, Chapter 1.  
  
By JockoMegane, inspired by "The Stand" by Stephen King, and "Dawn of the Dead" written/directed by George A. Romero.   
  
Send all comments and criticisms to: jockomegane@cs.com.  
  
LOCATION: Lemon Section.  
  
SYNOPSIS: A long tale of Dark Tsunamism.  
  
DISCLAIMER: Tenchi and his gang of vigilante crime fighters are the property of Pioneer LDC, AIC, and Hiroki Hayashi, er...did I say Hayashi? I meant Masaki Kajishima, of course! "The Stand" is the property of Stephen King, and "Dawn of the Dead" is (should) be the property of George A. Romero. I'm not making any money from this venture, neither should anyone else. All the works which I make reference to herein are done in the greatest of humility and admiration. Please don't sue me.  
  
MISSION STATEMENT: This story is intended as coming from the balls.   
  
NOTE: The continuity in this story is OVA 2 plus Kiyone. For this tale, GXP and Kajishima's OVA 3 don't exist.  
  
Very special thanks to Kai_Kerrigan for the reliable sounding board, suggestions, and support while this work was being undertaken.  
  
Thank you to Zyraen for assisting in editing this chapter.  
  
The format that this tale will be presented in is as follows:  
  
Three parts with three chapters each, for a total of nine chapters.  
  
This story will also have Lemon scenes in it periodically, as well as extreme violence. If any of these things don't meet your approval, please read something else.  
  
  
***  
  
Part 1, Chapter 1:  
  
October 9-16 1995. "Don't Fear The Reaper." Charleston, West Virginia to Youngstown, Ohio. Parts in Okayama, Japan, and the Galactic Union.  
  
***  
  
  
The truck stop off of US 77 just short of fifty miles outside of Charleston, West Virginia, often affectionately called "Led's," by the regulars after its proprietor, Dennis Ledford, was playing host to the usual crowd in the early morning hours of October 9, 1995. The counter was completely full, and already about a third of the booths were filled with mostly locals, but some travelers as well.  
  
The locals were busily devouring Gladys Ledford's famous omelet, while most of them seemed to be making due with either scrambled eggs, pancakes, french toast, or something else. One traveler was making due with "something else."   
  
"Here ya go hon," one of the waitresses, a petite woman approaching fifty put a bowl of Corn Flakes on the booth counter in front of Warren Hudson.  
  
"Thanks a lot," Warren smiled sincerely, sipping some of his orange juice before eagerly digging in. Hudson had been on the road all night, since he decided to not spend the night on the Kentucky border, and just find a nice, hopefully cheap, campground outside of Charleston to stay for a while.  
  
As Warren was sitting in a booth, he had a nice window seat looking out on the parking lot. Outside he could see his '67 Dodge Challenger parked along with a Winnebago with Delaware tags and a Ryder truck. It was getting brighter outside, it now being just after 8:00AM. The sun wasn't showing, only a spreading sky of gray with a hint of chilly rain, and--hell, maybe even snow by nightfall. The low rumble of US 77 could be heard down the hill from where the truck stop sat. Slowly, night mists were beginning to burn off.  
  
The usual chatter was going on at the counter amongst the coal miners. Union meetings, those assholes in Washington fucking up again, etc. The conversations ran together and Warren concentrated on properly digesting his cereal, orange juice, and the road maps he was studying. Therefore, he did not see the ambulance heading up the road.   
  
George LaPierre, a 29 year old West Virginia state trooper was the first to notice the ambulance ambling up the road with its sirens turned off. LaPierre was also the first to notice the ambulance quite suddenly beginning to weave in and out of its lane. "What the hell..." he immediately put his coffee down and rose to his feet, making his way to the door.  
  
LaPierre's comment was what got Warren's attention. And to Hudson's slight surprise, he was also gripping his spoon inordinately hard. He was now looking out the window as the ambulance began weaving from one side of the road to another before going into the ditch separating the parking lot from the road. The ambulance bounded back up onto the pavement, thankfully steering away from the gas pumps, and starting briefly for the general store before disappearing from the view of the breakfast crowd towards the dumpsters in back.  
  
A crash was heard.   
  
Warren dropped his spoon with a clang, and started for the front door along with LaPierre and three other men. However George had other ideas. "You four stay here!" he began speaking into his Citizen's Band (CB) radio very fast, calling for another ambulance, and a fire/rescue team.  
  
Warren, visibly shaken, steadied himself. "You sure, officer?" he asked.  
  
LaPierre didn't answer him, he was already out the door and going around to where the ambulance had gone.  
  
They waited for about a minute or two before they were greeted by a scream. LaPierre's scream by the sound of it. Warren opened the door and ran around the corner. The sight that greeted him held the distinction until the day of his death as being the biggest shock of his long life.   
  
The ambulance had crashed into the dumpster, obviously enough, and its rear double-doors hung open. The vehicle itself was in bad shape, front end completely smashed, radiator spewing steam, the works. This was secondary to what faced Hudson and the men who lined up in back of him, completely at a loss for what their eyes were seeing.  
  
George LaPierre was there, all right. Along with the other Emergency Medical Technicians (EMT's) and a man wearing what looked like pajamas.   
  
"...George?" Al Commager, a busboy in the truck stop, croaked as he noticed that about a third of LaPierre's neck was gone, blood coursing down his shirt. His skin seemed to be turning more pallid by the second. The EMTs and the pajama man were the same, except that the pajama man seemed uninjured. The pajama man seemed completely normal, save for his unnaturally pale skin and mouth being full of blood, bone fragments, and flesh.   
  
The EMTs and the pajama man took a jerking step forward, towards the group.  
  
Warren, as if pushed back, moved accordingly.  
  
The other men, however, advanced forward.  
  
Hudson looked left to right, "stay the fuck away from them, guys!" he shouted.  
  
They paid no attention to Warren. And that made them even, because Warren was now rummaging around in his coat. Al Commager was the first to join the Undead All-stars when he tried to beckon George LaPierre to sit down on the curb.  
  
"AHHH!" the busboy screamed as LaPierre sunk his teeth into the soft flesh of his neck.  
  
For one terrifying instant, the only sound that could be heard was the rustle of the wind in the trees nearby.  
  
One middle-aged fatman courageously stepped forward and attempted to drag the busboy away from the chomping teeth of LaPierre. He was rewarded for his heroism by the pajama dressed living corpse jerking forward quite suddenly and biting into the left side of the fatman's face, tearing away enough flesh so that the jaw could be seen working.   
  
Almost on cue, the two EMT dressed corpses extended their arms in grasping motions and began advancing towards the rest of the group.  
  
Despite his horror at this, Warren had managed to extract a small handgun, commonly called a Saturday Night Special in some parts of the country, cocked it, aimed for the pajama corpse, and to his near hysterical surprise heard a dull click. Hudson then remembered that the previous day he had target practiced with some of his empty pork and beans cans and forgotten to reload.  
  
He turned around and started running the 100 yard distance to where his car was parked. Even though he ran at top speed, it still was too late for the group over by the ambulance. After the fatman was down the others soon followed, paralyzed by fear but still operated under the assumption that the EMTs, the pajama man, and now LaPierre, the busboy, and the fatman were all just sick and in need of help.  
  
Warren had just turned the key in the trunk lock when he heard three screams in quick succession followed by a fourth. As the lock clicked Hudson resisted the urge to look over his shoulder. He didn't need to, anyway, it was plain to be heard that the other curious patrons in the restaurant had gone outside to see what was going on, as well as the workers in the back.  
  
In one swift motion, Warren scooped up his sword, a perfect replica of the Roman gladius, and a sawed off Ithaca shotgun. He spun around at a sound he had been tracking, one of the walking-dead EMTs, since he ran over to his car. 'Heh,' Hudson thought frantically, 'these things sure run fast for being dead!' After all, what else could they be?  
  
Judging the distance to be about four feet, three and a half when he would spin around, he opted for the gladius. Warren spun around on his heel and landed one looping slash across the right forearm of the EMT, completely severing it and coating the asphalt below it with blood. He spared a fraction of a second to look up at the vacant expression on the dead EMT.  
  
Nothing. He just tried to claw at him with his left arm now, which Warren dodged and moved out around to the EMT's rear, stepping over the severed arm which continued to work longer than it should. It nearly got a hold of his left boot heel.  
  
"All right, hotshot," Warren said to the unresponsive back as the EMT slowly jerked around to face him. "Let's see you deal with this!," he stabbed straight forward into the EMT's sternum, completely disconnecting the central nervous system. Hudson extracted the sword with a steady stream of blood and stomach contents (Warren recognized a piece of a Big Mac), he backed off another step.  
  
The EMT took another slow step towards him. More labored, but the dead-walker was still coming for him. For a split second Warren just gaped at this. Quickly he recovered, in one fluid motion sheathed the short sword and brought the shotgun to bear on the head of the EMT. He aimed, and squeezed the trigger.  
  
The head exploded in a flurry of red mush and bone fragments, leaving nothing behind. Warren looked like he had just fallen into a big Hawaiian punch bowl. Wearily he waited a few seconds. To his relief, the body just fell back onto the ground with nary a twitch.  
  
Warren exhaled and immediately broke into a run back to the restaurant entrance. He couldn't see anyone inside. Not heeding this telling clue, he kicked open the door and was greeted with the sight of two zombies eating a meaty arm of a truck driver he had noticed eating oatmeal not too long before.  
  
Hudson raised the shotgun, aimed, had his finger on the trigger, but didn't fire.  
  
"Run now!" an ethereal female whisper echoed in his head.  
  
Obeying without a second thought, but with regrets, Warren shrank back out the door and sprinted back to his car.  
  
"Nothing you could have done, nothing you could have done," he repeated breathlessly to himself as he got into the driver's seat. He got his keys in easily enough, but he turned the ignition too fast and the engine didn't catch. Hudson didn't need to look in his rearview mirror to know that three of the suckers were approaching. On his second try the zombies were beginning to beat on the trunk.   
  
Luckily, third time was the charm. Warren floored it, the old Dodge Challenger screeched its tires and barreled out onto the road.  
  
Warren kept his eyes on the road ahead, reminding himself to get back on US 77. As he did that he picked up his CB radio receiver. Quickly clicking onto the emergency frequency, "Mayday mayday, this is Sneaky Snake. Anyone reading me on this frequency be advised that Led's Truck Stop off of US 77 outside of Charleston, West Virginia has--" has what? Dead people coming back to life?  
  
"--been taken over by psycho killers or something." Lame, but not altogether inaccurate and not as misleading as a robbery. "Approach armed, shoot to kill. No one is left alive. Sneaky Snake over and out."  
  
Hudson pulled the car unto the sparse early morning traffic of US 77, all the while talking to himself. "That was the worst, Warren...that was the worst. Just keep it together and find a safe place to pray, Warren."  
  
Back in the truck stop's restaurant, Warren had left a scene that had unfolded very fast from the first new zombies getting into the restaurant from the back door. First, the cooks were bitten in the necks and immediately turned, while the poor dishwasher only sustained a bite to the leg and was wolfed down on by the cooks and the pajama man. The petite aged waitress who gave Warren his cereal that morning tried to call 911, but was so shocked at the horrors unleashing before her she just went into shock. As she was eaten from the feet up all she could think of was: "The Devil come to Earth, oh Lord please..." that was the last words to fill her consciousness as she became a meal instead of serving one.  
  
The Ledfords made a good effort to fight their dead patrons off by a fire extinguisher and a stool. They lasted about five minutes before Dennis slipped on some blood and hit his face on a hot oven, completely messing up some perfectly good hash browns. Gladys was bitten and became a member of the fastest growing racial group in America. The known universe, for that matter. This is the moment Warren was able to get to the front door of the restaurant.  
  
After everyone at the truck stop was either a zombie or sustenance for zombies, the only sounds that filled that quiet mountain corner of West Virginia was the sounds of the wind, the highway where Warren Hudson had escaped, and the seemingly aimless jerk-step-jerk-step as the zombies slowly spread out.  
  
***  
  
Sasami Jurai was enjoying one of her favorite pastimes: chasing butterflies in an idyllic field filled with bright yellow flowers. The sky was blue, with only a few puffy white clouds; just like her favorite field on Jurai. The sun was high, signifying that noon was approaching and that a picnic lunch would soon be happening on her favorite hill nearby. Despite it being a bit too late in the day, several moons of varying colors to Sasami's liking draped across the sky like a rainbow.  
  
Sasami turned to face the hill, and could clearly see all of her family and friends gathered there, waving...beckoning to her to come and eat. Sasami began trotting up the hill when from nowhere and everywhere, it seemed, the coldest wind that chilled her to her very being shook her. Surprised, she closed her eyes. When she opened them, Sasami found herself still in her favorite field, but it was night, and the stars were shining above. However, no matter how bright the stars were, she found there was a suffocating gloom all around her.  
  
She called out for mother, father, auntie, sister, Tenchi and all her other friends. They didn't come to her to hold her hand, or even call back. Not even Ryo-ohki's familiar "myaa!" was in this gloomy place. Save for one. One that was so shrouded in the gloom she had missed him the first time she looked, but now that she realized she was alone, Sasami could see *him.* But only barely could he be seen in the gloom. Sasami didn't move an inch towards him. He was standing right in front of her.  
  
His face was indistinct in the gloom, as was the rest of his body, but his palms were spread out in front of him. They were clear, clean, and attractive. Sasami, however, could not say the same for her hands. They had just started to hurt. Hurt like nothing she had ever felt since her accident on Jurai. She looked at her palms, noticing a wound in each of them. Her hands were soon filled with blood. Sasami gazed up at the man in front of her. Questioning....why? Why? Slowly, white hot anger began to course through her soul like she had never experienced before.   
  
WHY?!?!  
  
The barest impression of a smile in the gloom was the only response she got, and a slight cock of his head up.  
  
"All of the stars in the sky," he whispered, "all of the stars in the sky..."  
  
Just before Sasami was able to shake herself out of the nightmare, she could now see that she and the man were not alone in the field after all. Some tall figure was standing behind him. The last image remembered before she awoke was the sterling image of a beautiful woman's painted face with a cold pitiless smile.  
  
  
***  
  
The "problem" as it would come to be called in the days and weeks to come is mainly credited as having originated in West Virginia. This, however, is not true. As police transcripts and other public records would later show, Warren Hudson's experience is predated by one 17 minutes earlier in the plains of Indiana.   
  
What began as a passing patrol car catching sight of what appeared to be a drunk staggering through a wheat field, soon ended in a day long mystery that saw an entire rural county lose two-thirds of its law-enforcement officers. Deputy Sheriff Bill Van Dyke was doing his early morning rounds driving down State Road 50 when he noticed a figure staggering across a field in the early morning gloom. He stopped, got out of the patrol car and approached the figure. To his relief, Van Dyke didn't have to trudge all the way out into the middle of the field, as the figure was now staggering towards him. Van Dyke smiled as the figure came closer into view as the sun was beginning to rise, nothing like escorting a friendly wino to a little time in the county drunk tank to start off the day.  
  
In a widely criticized lapse of Standard Operating Procedure, it was over an hour before another patrol car was sent out to find out why the hell Van Dyke wasn't reporting in. All they found was an empty patrol car and no one to be seen for miles in either direction, except for a farm house.  
  
At the same time Warren Hudson was having his little nightmarish breakfast, the zombie Van Dyke and the supposed drunk zombie made fairly short work of a family farm. From there, the average "infection" rate was three to six zombies depending on what area and terrain the problem first appeared in. Contrary to later popular belief, rural areas with a flat expanse of land actually yielded *more* zombies than the problem did in more densely populated areas.  
  
  
***  
  
Tenchi Masaki sat outside on the pier that made up his family's back yard enjoying the late night air. It had been a tough day in the fields, and an equally tough practice with grandfather, and the boy's muscles had a slight ache that the dip in the onsen had failed to completely banish. Dinner had been good, everyone actually got along well. However, Sasami had seemed tired and after eating her dinner asked to be excused so she could go to bed early.  
  
Tenchi could feel himself getting drowsier as he gazed up at the stars. He smiled, already Sasami was probably in dream land. Ryoko and Ayeka were watching a late night soap opera marathon on TV, his father, grandfather, Mihoshi, and Kiyone were having their weekly mahjong game up at the temple, Washu was...well, trying Kami knew what in her lab. Tenchi himself had a Biology exam tomorrow. Normally, he would be in bed already, but something was making him uneasy as he sat gazing up at the stars. He had thought that spending ten or twenty minutes outside listening to the crickets and looking at the stars would put him in a more restive mood, but as ten or twenty minutes turned into thirty, and then forty the only feeling growing in Tenchi was dread.  
  
The Earth boy glanced around him for the fifth time, making sure that no one was trying to sneak up on him. Some would say this was a reaction to him living in the same house with two alien women both vying for his love, but truth be told Tenchi never felt actually *scared* of them. His first meeting Ryoko notwithstanding. Pretty fucked up circumstances there.  
  
No, Tenchi realized as he watched the gently twinkling stars, this was something else. He shivered despite it still being warm for October.  
  
"Hey Tenchi," Ryoko called gently, peeking her head out of the kitchen wall.  
  
Normally, he would start just a little, but tonight he welcomed Ryoko's voice bringing him back from progressively worse thoughts.  
  
"Hi Ryoko," Tenchi smiled back at her.  
  
Ryoko phased through the rest of the wall, getting a good look at the stars. She stood, arms folded across her chest, her eyes brightly reflecting the moonlight. Tenchi watched her in silence, his earlier fear momentarily forgotten.  
  
"Nice night," she commented.  
  
Tenchi returned his attention to the sky. Yes, it was nice after all. Then why was he feeling like he had one of those childhood nightmares that made you shaky for a week afterwards? "Yes," he agreed, "it is nice, Ryoko."  
  
Ryouko smiled down at him, "aren't you supposed to be in bed, schoolboy?"  
  
Tenchi blinked, yes it was probably past midnight by now. "Yeah, you're right Ryoko," he stood, stretched his aching muscles some.   
  
Ryoko's golden eyes glinted almost imperceptibly, "I can give you a nice massage to help put you to sleep, Tenchi..."  
  
"That'll be quite enough, Ms. Ryoko," Ayeka called out from the sliding glass door, a dainty grin on her face.  
  
"Awh, come on, Princess," Ryoko gave her a 'little ole me' look, "can't blame me for trying, can you?"  
  
Ayeka shook her head in mock indignation, "Of course I can, when you try to keep Lord Tenchi from his rest for school!"  
  
"Oh he doesn't need school," Ryoko laughed, "he's got me to teach him everything, don't you Tenchi darling?"  
  
Tenchi smiled, waving them down. "Girls, I really need to get to bed." He sincerely wished he could have stayed. In the months since the visit of the Jurain Royal family the relationship between the Space Pirate and Princess had taken on a tone of a respectful, but no less competitive, rivalry. Thankfully, the days of explosive arguments and fights over little things were over.  
  
"Lord Tenchi," Ayeka said brightly, stepping out onto the pier. "I would be happy to wake up early tomorrow to help you do extra studying for your Biology exam."  
  
"...by sleeping in his bed tonight?" Ryoko hummed.  
  
Ayeka flashed her a smirk, her eye twitched slightly, "and what would you do, Ms. Ryoko?"  
  
"Mmm. Biology is a very simple subject with the right tutor," Ryoko traipsed over to Tenchi, gently setting her hands on his shoulders. Tenchi blushed. Ryoko did no more.  
  
Ayeka laughed, "you would, wouldn't you?"  
  
"No more, no less than you would, Princess."  
  
"Then I believe we have something to settle over tennis tomorrow, Ms. Ryoko," Ayeka smiled.  
  
Ryoko threw her hands up in the air, removing them from Tenchi's shoulders. "That's called dodging the issue, Ayeka!"  
  
It was Tenchi's turn to laugh this time. "Thank you for the offer, Ms. Ayeka, but I'm pretty confident I'll be all right."  
  
"See?" Ryoko stuck out her tongue for Ayeka's benefit.  
  
"And you two," Tenchi raised his voice, "better get back to your soap operas," he pointed back to the living room window where the TV could be seen. The commercial break the girl's had used to get snacks, use the powder room, and check up on Tenchi was long past over.  
  
Both girls immediately made a beeline back into the house, stopping only to wish Tenchi goodnight. Ryoko spared a second to blow him a kiss and wink. Tenchi laughed, yawned, and made his way back into the house by the door next to the kitchen. Before he went indoors he casted a wary glance back at the ominously twinkling stars, feeling the dread beginning to collect at the pit of his stomach.   
  
  
***  
  
Very soon as the morning of October 9 wore on, and the whole of the Eastern United States was beginning to wake up, more and more incidents started to pop up. The most significant, or rather the one most widely reported later, was an audio recording of an autopsy being done in the Livingston County, Michigan morgue. Here follows a 100% verbatim transcript:  
  
Coroner James Reese and his assistant Alan Peterson are conducting an autopsy on a woman killed by a drunk driver at around 3:34AM that morning  
  
the recording begins, sounds of a large metallic room can be heard  
  
Reese: "Autopsy of Ms. Veronica Dickerson, October 9, 1995, this is James Reese, Livingston County coroner presiding and Alan Peterson assisting. Time is 8:14AM. "  
  
Peterson: "All right, what's her story?"  
  
Reese: "Pedestrian, crossing the street at the stop light when she was supposed to."  
  
yawning is heard, presumably from Peterson  
  
Peterson: "At least they could have waited until 9:00 or 10:00 to get us up..."  
  
Reese: "The Sheriff wants the arraign this son of a bitch fast, Alan, just suck it up."  
  
tinkering is heard, some scrapes, other use of flesh-tearing utensils on a dead body  
  
Peterson: "This seems to be an interesting contusion at the base of the neck..." picking is heard  
  
Reese: "Now this is damned peculiar, rigor hasn't set in yet."  
  
a snapping is heard, later revealed to be the corpse's hands shooting up and grabbing both men by the necks. Screaming is heard as instruments fall to the floor as well as chomping teeth. After that, there is a slithering sound then dead air for over two hours before the tape runs out  
  
***  
  
Sasami lay awake gazing up at the unchanging wood of the Masaki family's ceiling. The youngest Jurain Princess was trying to lull herself back into drowsiness after her nightmare. So far no success. She tried everything she could just lying there in the dark, the moonbeams casted across the floor, just touching her futon. Right now she was trying to understand the Earth western custom of counting sheep. Why count sheep? They never jumped over fences. They only grazed.  
  
Sasami breathed an exasperated sigh, folding her hands behind her head on the pillow. "Tsunami," she called, listening.  
  
From downstairs she could hear the TV, nothing else.  
  
"I'm here, Sasami."  
  
Sasami turned her head to find Tsunami sitting under the window sill, the moon light passing right through the apparition of her body, eventhough her body appeared completely solid. The Goddess smiled, knowing this: "I know how much you love the moon, Sasami."  
  
"Same to you," the young Princess smiled.  
  
Tsunami gazed around the room. "I know what is troubling you, troubling us," the Goddess sighed.  
  
"It's her...isn't it, Tsunami?" Sasami gazed at her assimilation partner, the future her, her mirror image in many ways, her Tree. The First Space Tree.   
  
Tsunami craned her head back to get a better look at the outside. "Yes."  
  
"And him," Sasami sat up in her futon. "This is the first time I've ever seen him."  
  
Tsunami turned her attention back to Sasami. "For a long time has he been hidden from my eyes, too."  
  
Sasami hugged her knees through the blanket. "There was another man you've shown me lately," she closed her eyes, trying to summon up an image from memory. "He's tall, black hair...not quite as black as Tenchi's or big brother's, but he's got a real short haircut," she smiled, remembering, "he's nice."  
  
Tsunami nodded, a slight grin crossing her delicate features. "What is he doing right now, Sasami?"  
  
Sasami breathed deeply, concentrating. For a full minute she was silent, then: "He's running, er...um, driving that is."  
  
***  
  
Previously on October 8, American peace keepers in Bosnia had been attacked by Muslim extremists. No Americans were killed in action, but fifteen unfortunate service men and three equally unfortunate service women died in a fire in their barracks, seemingly an accident. The bodies, whose causes of death were all suffocation, were flown to the Dover, Delaware Air Force base.  
  
Thus on the morning of October 9, the bodies of the fallen service men and women were laid out in a hanger, awaiting final determinations by the doctors. Two Privates were charged with the task of keeping a watch over things. They thought it was light duty, just prevent anyone who didn't have clearance from getting into the hanger.  
  
Billy St. Croix, of Baton Rouge, Louisiana, and Richard Nicks, of Portland, Oregon were the two privates. All was going well, just less than an hour before they were to be relieved...  
  
Billy was doing his third or fourth body count of his shift when, having arrived at the middle of the three rows of six corpses he glanced down at his clipboard, and back up. The bodies, which were in black body bags, were stirring and beginning to role around on the floor.  
  
Pvt. St. Croix simply couldn't handle it. "AHHHHH!" he cried and cowered to the floor.  
  
Richard was at his side in a moment. He handled things better. For the moment it just looked like the doctors in Bosnia had only made a big damned mistake to him. "Billy!" he grabbed his friend's shoulder, "pull yourself together!"  
  
"I swear to Gawd!" Billy wailed on the floor, "I never EVER did LSD in my LIFE!"  
  
Richard smacked Billy opened-handed across the face. "It's okay, man! I see 'em too!"  
  
Billy looked up at Richard with fear-bleary eyes, "Then it's YOU who's been a doin' LSD, then!" This exchange went on too long, however. For soon a zombie had found their way out of the body bag and made them foot soldiers in another army.  
  
***  
  
Yosho, to some the crown prince of the planet Jurai, and to others a stern old Shrine keeper named Katsuhito, was doing the same activity that his grandson was doing: stargazing. However, his accompanying uneasiness was able to take on a more coherent form thanks to pure life experience. Yosho had been sitting quietly out on the front porch of the Shrine office, sipping tea after saying his nightly prayers for all of his late wives and all of his now dead children, especially Achika.  
  
There was also another prayer that Yosho made that night, a prayer for an old friend. More than friend, actually. The Jurain word that Yosho sometimes called him would be loosely translated in Japanese as "adopted brother." In a trunk in the corner of his office, hidden just enough so that Tenchi's curiosity wouldn't find it without a deliberate search, there was a modest framed black and white photograph of Yosho looking much the same as he always did as Katsuhito, and a young man dressed in the robes of a Shinto acolyte. The most obvious feature of the young man is his Anglo-Saxon ethnicity. He is also rather young looking, probably no more than twenty years old, with short, cropped black hair.  
  
On the picture frame there's a simple inscription: "June 26th, 1952."  
  
As Yosho sat outside in the moments before he felt the fabric of the universe change slightly on his adoptive homeplanet, he meditated on the five years Warren Hudson spent at the Shrine under the pretense of being his apprentice, when actually he was his servant/protector under the ancient Jurain tradition roughly equivalent to being a squire in Europe's middle ages.  
  
The steps where Yosho now sat and which Tenchi had swept this morning had from 1947 to 1952 been part of Warren's chores, which were almost exactly Tenchi's shrine chores now. Yosho had grinned, Hudson never griped as much as Tenchi did on some days. But he supposed it was all relative, when Warren was here he didn't have any life outside of his duties, and even then there was no way the average person going to the Shrine would accept a *YANKEE* silently sweeping the stone walk wearing the robes of a Shrine apprentice. Thus it was that Warren Hudson spent a good portion of his time being out of sight out of mind in the office, or in a small clearing nearby honing his swordsmanship skills.   
  
Yosho missed him, to tell the truth. He missed having someone he could sit and talk about what life on this little backwater planet meant to him. He missed how the young American faced each day of his new Tsunami-given life with wide-eyed wonder, and a head full of questions. He was very much like Tenchi, Yosho would recall years later, only that Warren was more obedient. Ever since that night in 1947 when Tsunami informed him that her latest charge was ready to be released from the Ship of Jurai, and Yosho opened the Shrine office door to find a young naked Anglo-American male kneeling in the proper position of a Jurain servant.  
  
As Yosho reminisced about the young man's initial shyness at being in the presence of the rightful, though Yosho would vehemently deny this, crown Prince of Jurai, the Shrine keeper felt his insides go cold. As if winter decided to creep up and hang over his back. There were three incidents in his life which felt like that. First was when he climbed a tree much too high for a boy of five, and he waited up in the branches for an hour before his father found him and helped him down. The second time was when he fought Ryoko on the fields of central Japan, oh so long ago... The third time was when he felt Tenchi nearly die.  
  
Now, this coldness he was feeling, that many others were feeling on planets that stretched like a daisy chain all around the universe, caused Yosho's hands to tremor slightly; the cup of tea falling and shattering in silence on the well-swept stone. After this, the Jurain Prince regained his composure and stood, only hundreds of years of discipline prevented his knees from buckling.   
  
Yosho left the tea cup's remnants on the ground, his sandal breaking another piece as he retreated back inside the Shrine office. There was work to be done. Great and terrible work.  
  
***  
  
"You ready, John?" Sheriff Lane Parker of Wilkinson County, North Carolina said to his deputy, John Udall.  
  
John nodded tensely, beads of sweat pouring down his face.  
  
"On three," Parker nodded. Udall nodded in response.  
  
Parker counted, "one...two...three. NOW!"  
  
The duo burst through the door with their revolvers drawn and as soon as they got a positive lock on a target, began unloading. The room they were in was small, the living room in a rural house. They had been called out here because of a 911 call with no one on the line, just dead air. The sight that greeted them as they beat down the front door was of a entire family of four zombies aimlessly wandering around the living room; one had just stumbled into a console TV and other looked like it had taken a nasty spill down the stairs, but they all turned towards Lane and John once they were in the door. The Sheriff and Deputy barely had time to barricade themselves in the kitchen before getting bitten.  
  
After plugging each family member three time each (one in each eye and one in the forehead) Lane and John stopped for a long minute to catch their breath. "How many does this house make it?" Lane asked.  
  
"Fifteen," John replied, neatly stepping over the spreading blood under the father zombie's head. He sat down in a chair and ran his hands through his hair.   
  
Lane gently laid a hand on his friend's shoulder. In the past hour they had been from one side of the backwoods of the county to the other, investigating first a report of vandals in a mortuary, some pale psycho taking hostages in the Braintree hospital (although, the hostage taker just seemed intent on eating his "hostages" or making more hostage takers), and John had faced the death of his childhood friend, Ray Collum, the coroner. It was just after the hospital situation had been resolved, and Ray had been called in to do a post-mortem on an unfortunate young doctor. Ray didn't arrive, minutes later a Braintree police officer frantically radioed in that the entire deceased clientele at the county morgue was now...alive, but NOT like you or me, the officer had screamed.  
  
"BBK-59, this is base, respond," Lane's radio hissed.  
  
"Base this is BBK-59, gimme some good news Rachel," Lane's voice, normally thick with his southern drawl, sounded uncharacteristically nervous and thin.   
  
"I called the Governor, like you asked..." she hesitated over the air. Lane frowned, "what did they say?"  
  
"They didn't believe us, Lane!" she practically shouted, "the dickhead Assistant Chief of Staff also said he was going to see personally that he had my badge over this!"  
  
Lane and John exchanged horrified, but understanding looks. John shook his head, running his hands through his hair again.  
  
"Rachel...you get them on the phone again, and patch that shit-poke into the radio in the cruiser, "got it?"  
  
"Got it, BBK-59," Rachel said, "base out."  
  
John stood, "looks like a long day ahead of us," he sighed, feeling one hell of a migraine beginning.   
  
"Looks like this is going to be an uphill battle, John," Lane patted his shoulder, "let's just try to keep it together as long as we can, right?"  
  
John nodded. They left the room and the bloody corpses behind. As they went through the front door, their fatal error of not reloading and drawing their weapons became all too apparent as they were taken down by a group of six zombies emerging from the morning fog.  
  
***   
  
Warren drove for three hours north on US 77, crossing into Ohio. Feeling totally strung out, he pulled into a dingy motel, spent his last $20 out of $65 in his wallet, and sat himself down on the lumpy bed and tuned the TV to CNN. He would have to move quickly, his current assumption was that what had happened at the late Led's truckstop was possibly airborne and definitely transmitted through biting. He had heard nothing on the radio, and all the local chatter on the CB wrote his warning off as the ravings of some dope smoking hippie too far removed from the Ozarks. Hudson had tried to listen in to the law enforcement frequencies but couldn't hear anything. Either they were using a channel his CB didn't get, they were maintaining radio silence...or they weren't transmitting.  
  
If it wasn't for the voice he had heard, Hudson would have been barreling north to Detroit, get out of the East to West winds that were blowing across the Appalachians and then find a fast way to get to Okayama...but it was time for him to pray. Warren closed the curtains, turned out the lights, found a place on the floor with just enough room, and prostrated himself.   
  
"By the royal seal of those that I serve, Heaven to Earth, Earth to Ocean, Ocean back to Heaven. Tsunami, show me the path engraved by the Light!"  
  
Warren Hudson found himself kneeling on a cool green patch of grass. Trees illuminated by their inner light were all around. It was warm, and he could hear a small waterfall nearby. He waited. "Arise, Warren," Tsunami spoke.  
  
Hudson stood. "What are Your orders, Goddess?"  
  
Tsunami raised her eyes to his. Her face was usually not much for expression whenever she communicated with him, but if he had any doubts about the severity of the zombie problem, or its source, they were dispelled now.  
  
"She's coming," Warren stated.  
  
"Yes." Tsunami nodded, a slight sympathetic smile playing across her features. "Your long wait is over, Knight of Jurai, return to serve the royal family."   
  
Hudson bowed, "please inform Prince Yosho of my impending arrival."  
  
"Do not worry, just come to us. We need you," there was a hint of desperation in her voice.  
  
"Is there someone else at the Shrine now, too?"   
  
This time, Tsunami smiled. A full, radiant smile that complemented her face, hair, and eyes wonderfully. "Yes, Warren. You'll have new responsibilities to them, and I'm sure they'll feel the same way towards you."  
  
Almost immediately, tears began coursing down his face. "I'm...not going to be alone anymore?" Hudson had known this day would come eventually, but to be *there* was completely overpowering.   
  
Tsunami approached him. Warren once again kneeled on the ground, eyes averted. Tsunami kneeled down and gave him a cradling type of hug. "Yes, faithful Knight of Jurai. Your sorrowful waiting is over," she said with all the sympathy the Goddess could feel.  
  
After what seemed like an hour, Warren found himself back in the motel room. He dressed in clean clothes, used the bathroom, turned off everything, and left the room. He was going to catch a plane at the nearest airport. Fuck this avoiding the wind and shit. As he checked out, the clerk also had CNN on. There was a Breaking News alert about a hostage situation at a hospital in Connecticut.  
  
  
***  
  
The next day, in another part of the galaxy, in a vehicle very much unlike Warren Hudson's Challenger, Detective First Class Mitsuki of the Galaxy Police was doing her favorite activity: interrogation. The subject was Honataru Ortega, a gunrunner for the Shanarl crime family. The biggest source of criminal mischief in Sector G-56, Mitsuki's beat with her partner, Detective Third Class Rus Lamiz.  
  
Ortega was just forcefully pulled out of one of Darlintus III's premier high-class brothels by Mitsuki and Lamiz, on an arrest warrant for assault with a deadly weapon on Anidarus, some two months earlier. Before taking Ortega into sector base for further questioning, Mitsuki had decided to see if some preliminary information could be extracted. So far, three hours and twelve different offers for Ortega to cop a plea and rat on the Shanarl later, Mitsuki's efforts were coming up fruitless.  
  
"I say again," Ortega sneered from behind a humming force field, "I ain't talkin' until I see my lawyer." He was sitting defiantly in his small holding cell in the brig on Mitsuki's GP patrol ship, the Exeter.  
  
"You aren't going to see your lawyer for a while, Honataru!" Mitsuki slammed her fist against the corridor. "So you might as well tell me everything I want to know, and I'll make sure you only do a ten year stretch on Lanaris instead of twenty." Mitsuki then remembered that Ortega was also wanted in Jurain space. "Or how would twenty to thirty years in a Jurain Tree prison sound to you?"  
  
Ortega winced.  
  
Lamiz had gotten bored with exchanges like this pretty quickly, and requested permission to go transmit the proper paper work regarding the arrest. Mitsuki had given permission. Truth be told, in Mitsuki's judgment, the young male Galaxy Police officer from Meltronia didn't seem to be cut out for interrogation or the type of competitive atmospheres and situations that Mitsuki had always thrived in going back to her Academy days. This is perhaps just as well, as Lamiz really despised Mitsuki's grandstanding, and repeatedly requested transfers.  
  
"Detective," Ortega flashed his toothy smile at her for what seemed like the one hundredth time that hour, "I'm a small cloud in a big nebula, if you catch my meaning. You might as well just let me go."  
  
"Oh that's rich, Ortega, real rich," Mitsuki howled in mocking catty laughter. Both at the offer and Orgeta's campy choice of words. She really was, depending on the listener, amazingly bad or deviously good.  
  
"I can make it worth your while..." he smirked.  
  
"Make it worth my while?" Mitsuki laughed more. Still as mocking and catty as ever.  
  
Ortega simply smiled. Soundlessly, he mouthed the words: Garm Ric.  
  
Mitsuki stopped dead. Garm Ric was the leader of the Puolas cartel; mainly high-fashion criminals associated with assassination, kidnapping plots, and other vicious activities. Just last week, a typical Puolas cartel activity had taken place on the edge of the sector on planet Wusten, where the planetary governor's family was held for a ransom totaling half of Wusten's GDP for that year. They paid it rather than watch the governor's family face a horrible end that would doubtless make it into the galactic snuff film market by the next day.  
  
Last year's estimate by the Jurain Intelligence Bureau placed the Puolas cartel's net worth at 10% of the Jurain Kingdom's Gross Domestic Product from its economic heyday back some ten millennia ago. It was also widely suspected that cartel money was propping up several hostile planetary governments outside the Galactic Union and Jurain Kingdom.  
  
If...if Mitsuki could nab Garm Ric, then the possibilities for advancement would be limitless. The rush of images invaded her imagination. First sector chief, then quadrant commander, a seat in the Marshall's cabinet, Vice-Marshall, and then Marshall. Abruptly, Mitsuki realized her breathing had quickened, she controlled herself, but Ortega noticed.  
  
"You just have to let me go," Ortega said quietly, completely serious.  
  
"...how will you deliver Garm?" Mitsuki found herself asking. Visions of her advancement still dancing enticingly in front of her mind's eye.  
  
"I did some contract work for him," Ortega said, inadvertently confirming what Mitsuki had read in Ortega's Intelligence file just that morning. What's more, Mitsuki could tell that he honestly did not think she knew that. This only made the images of promotion, accolades, rank, and success more real to Mitsuki.  
  
"It's a job that I got stiffed on payment," Ortega continued, confirming something else Intelligence had learned about him. "The Sharnal," he whispered with cold pride, "does not take well to someone breaking a contract." Which was also true, as Mitsuki knew a bit about Sharnal crime family honor. Thus, it was completely plausible that Ortega was telling the truth about delivering Garm Ric to her in exchange for only letting him go.  
  
***  
  
In Mineral Point, Wisconsin the problem got bad real fast with the help of a coroner and several doctors making bad guesses after a zombie was found wandering a cemetery. The zombie was captured long enough to be examined, however half-assed the examination was. This precipitated a disturbing and rapidly spreading rumor that the dead....ALL the dead were coming back to life. By the time Warren Hudson was calling his fifth airline in his ongoing search for plane tickets to Tokyo back in Ohio, the cemeteries of the tri-county area around Mineral Point were full of people digging up caskets and looking inside. To the horror of some, and the relief of others, every corpse was still dead. Even the recently buried ones.  
  
The Mineral Point incident did prove, however, that the only dead bodies effected by what was happening were those that had been dead within the past three to six hours starting on October 9th.  
  
***  
  
"--look," Hudson said as calmly as possible into the phone, "I don't have a reservation, I want to buy a plane ticket to Tokyo...now I don't care how many connections I have to make I just want to leave from Columbus International as soon as possible," he stopped to listen to the American Airlines sales rep's reply.  
  
"Try Cincinatti?" Warren asked, not quite believing it. The sales rep continued talking. "Hmmhmm, thanks a lot, bye!" Hudson hung up the pay phone, made a few notations on a piece of paper, and walked back to his car.   
  
He was at a gas station, taking care of food and bathroom visits. Being as nervous as a rat on speed was starting to have an effect on him. That, and his constant looking back to make sure nothing was sneaking up on him. After having to sneak into a gas stations rest room to clean the blood from his clothes; Warren was deathly afraid of being pulled over for something he just couldn't explain away very well.  
  
Morning had turned into afternoon on the day after the incident at Led's as he tried to find a fast way out of the country. If no one was heeding his warning, heh, then he wasn't about to stick around any longer than he had too. Warren Hudson, Knight of Jurai, would be of more use fighting at the side of Prince Yosho of Jurai and serving the First Tree-Ship of Jurai.  
  
So far his efforts to find an available flight in the next twelve to twenty-four hours to the west coast were not going well. Five airlines he had called, and only the last one had offered him any hope. If he hurried, that is. It was just past noon, and he had to drive across the entire length of the state in four hours to claim a possible extra ticket on a 6:00PM flight to San Francisco.  
  
'You've made longer drives on shorter timetables than this,' he told himself as he pulled out of the gas station.   
  
Warren was one minute out of sensing range of three zombies that were ambling out of the woods behind the gas station. Score: 1 zombie dead from the twelve gauge shotgun the clerk kept under the counter, 1 eaten convenience store clerk, and 2 new zombies.  
  
***  
  
Here follows an Associated Press story released to wire services at 2:39PM EST on October 10th, 1995:  
  
Fire at Dover Air Force Base  
By Alex Kerrigan.  
  
AP-DOVER. Officials at the Dover Air Force base are reporting a minor fire has broken out in an abandoned hanger. Base Commander Lewis Drake released a statement that the situation is in hand and that outside help is not needed but appreciated. Drake also went on to explain that for the time being the base would be closed to anyone entering or leaving. Base operations are expected to be nominal at around 7:00PM EST.  
  
  
***  
  
As the day marched on around the world, the first cases of zombism showed up across Canada and southern Mexico. By the late night the United Kingdom and Spain were getting into the act and just before midnight in Kenya and Brazil.  
  
And so on.  
  
***  
  
Washu Hakubi, the Greatest Scientific Genius In the Universe, was sitting on her red plush, suspended cushions intent on five different holo displays in front of her. Each display had up to six different experiments being run on it. Washu was adjusting, monitoring, and recording all. She had been at this for the past three days straight, on one of her usual winning streaks. Weeks when she felt like she could usher in a new age of scientific discovery with just an afternoon's work. Days when the only things she needed to sustain herself were some snacks and the feel of the holo-top under her fingers. This, oh my friends, was one of those days. One of those glorious days in what was shaping up to be a very productive week for Washu Hakubi.  
  
Washu grinned; a small content grin as she worked. Times like this everything seemed to melt away from her. Like she was floating throughout the multiverse making things happen. The red-haired scientist was about to start another thirty or so experiments when she heard the door to her laboratory slam open.  
  
Washu jumped. No one had ever entered without knocking, with the exception of Mihoshi.  
  
Fortunately, Yosho yelled as he stalked into the lab. "Washu, I must speak with you!"  
  
"Ah," Washu tried to collect her thoughts for a millisecond, "ah yes, yes! Why are you barging in here, Yosho? Why if I was your Momma I'd--"  
  
Washu feel silent as the taller man's glasses glinted down at Washu. "What...Is something wrong, Yosho?"  
  
Yosho let out his first breath since entering the lab. No one had seen him silently run into the house and into the door under the stairs. "Washu..." he breathed, "I need you to run an orbital scan."  
  
Washu blinked, "for what?"  
  
Yosho took a deep breath, thinking, "I believe if we find something on one of the lower EM radiation bands, either much higher or lower than usual, we'll know where to begin."  
  
"You're frightened, Yosho," Washu said, "I can see that. What's going on?"  
  
Yosho frowned, trying to regain some of his stern composure. "I...pray to Tsunami nothing is going on. But we *must* be sure."  
  
Washu nodded, not pressing the issue further. "All righty, let's get this show on the road," she began clacking away on her holo-top, she casted a side-long glance at Yosho, "the lower EM radiation bands, old man? All of them?"  
  
Yosho nodded.  
  
Washu sighed, "it might take a while, that's all."  
  
"I have faith in you, Little Washu," Yosho said looking into her eyes.  
  
Washu smiled at him as she began entering new parameters. "Yeah, I just hope you feel the same way a week from now when the scan is done."  
  
Yosho face-faulted.  
  
Washu shrugged, "what? The lower EM radiation bands aren't just a million or so. We're dealing with literally trillions, old man! And since I'm checking for simply *everything*, it's going to take a bit of time, mmkay?"  
  
"Yes, I suppose you're right," Yosho cursed himself for not being more exact.  
  
"Mind telling now me *why* I'm doing this?" Washu asked.  
  
Yosho gazed at the fabricated stars above Washu's main lab/living room. "Ice and darkness..." he shuddered. "I've been trying Funaho's sensors, but I believe her slow deterioration is finally effecting that system."  
  
Washu saw Yosho shuddering, marked it for future reference. "All right, Yosho. Just leave me alone and tell Sasami to place my meals inside the door. No interruptions, got it? When I have something you'll be the first to know."  
  
Yosho nodded for a moment, before remembering a dream he had last night. "There will be someone else arriving here in the very near future."  
  
"Eh?" Washu asked. "'Someone else,' you say?"  
  
The old man allowed himself a thin smile of nostalgia. "Yes. An old friend."  
  
Washu only shrugged. "All right, always room for one more in the house, I guess. Now go," Washu pointed vaguely back to the door.  
  
Yosho bowed in deep respect and gratitude, which elicited a tiny smirk from Washu. The older Jurain Prince left the lab and Washu set about her work. It wasn't long before she began to wonder if her lab's temperature regulators weren't working properly. It seemed there was a slight chill in the air. But Washu ignored this and just kept on working.  
  
***  
  
"Detective," Lamiz glanced over his shoulder as his superior entered the cockpit as he sat in the co-pilot's seat.  
  
"Report," Mitsuki sat down in the pilot's seat.  
  
"I've sent the proper files to HQ, and have received instructions to drop his ass off at Usarian Four," he disinterestedly began perusing the flit-ball scores.  
  
"Good," Mitsuki said, beginning procedures to break out of orbit. "We're getting out of here as soon as we get clearance from Darlintus station."  
  
"Roger," Lamiz answered, he started to check systems and warm up the engine core on mental autopilot.  
  
The Exeter got all the proper clearances, and just as it left orbit, a loud explosion shook the entire GP patrol ship. Klaxons and various alarms sounded that were only heard in testing inspections. "What was that?!" Mitsuki shouted over her ship's wail.  
  
Lamiz hands flew over his console, his face contorted in amazement, then anger, and then finally frustration. "An explosion in a DF-49P conduit near the brig," he looked at Mitsuki, "we have a hull breach on deck two, and no power in the cargo hold. From what's left of the brig sensors, it appears that Ortega has beamed out and left us a parting gift."  
  
Mitsuki did a quick multi-phasic scan of the surrounding area. An expression of cold anger and grim admiration filled the features of the redhead with the cropped hair. "That cunning son of a bitch..."  
  
Lamiz looked down as he worked to bring auxiliary systems online. "I've heard of a new type of transponder that can be fashioned into a false tooth--"  
  
Mitsuki smacked her console hard. "Goddamnit!"  
  
"--which we didn't scan anyway," he checked out the transporter logs with an expression of even more amazement. "It looks like he sent a signal to our transporter which initiated a site-to-site transport--" Lamiz grinned wolfishly, "let's see..." he frowned, "no, the computer archive has been damaged pretty bad. No doubt intentional, I doubt we'll ever find out where he beamed too. Not that it matters, anyway."  
  
Mitsuki worked her console some more, looking at displays of the brig region. "Probably a pressure bomb he beamed in right after he beamed out."  
  
Lamiz sulked in his seat, saying nothing.  
  
Mitsuki sighed, closed her eyes. She wagged her finger at Lamiz, "at least we know now to check out a prisoner's teeth and raise the shields while transporting them."  
  
"Can't wait to see Gyhenkall's face when he reads the report," Lamiz shook his head.  
  
Mitsuki opened her eyes. "I only hope he doesn't call an Internal Affairs inquiry on us," she stood, "inform Darlintus station we'll be returning for repairs. I'll be checking things out, and then try and write the report."  
  
"Aye, Detective," Lamiz said, as Mitsuki left the cockpit.  
  
***  
  
"Tenchi," Nobuyuki Masaki said after he swallowed another bite of his dinner, "is Washu not coming to dinner?"  
  
Tenchi shared a look with Ryoko sitting next to him, "she says she's working on a very important experiment at the moment, Dad."  
  
"Still," Nobuyuki frowned, "it's not too often I get home early enough to have dinner with the whole family."  
  
Ayeka finished a sip of tea, "if you would like, Lord Nobuyuki," she offered, "I would be happy to retrieve Ms. Washu from the lab."  
  
Ryoko looked up from her dinner, caught Ayeka's attention and gave a slow negative shake of her head. "She'll come out when she's ready, Princess, you'd only be annoying her."  
  
Ayeka nodded quietly. If anyone would know, it would be Ryoko.  
  
"Come to think of it," Nobuyuki hummed, "how often *does* Dad come down from the Shrine office to eat, anyway?"  
  
Sasami piped up in a small voice, "Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, mostly."  
  
Nobuyuki frowned again. That day was Friday, October 15th. "I'd hate to think that he wasn't eating right, does he seem to have any health problems lately?"  
  
"Come on, Dad." Tenchi gave him a look.  
  
Nobuyuki quickly realized the foolishness of his question, nodded, and returned to his meal. For a moment, the chatter around the dinner table resumed its normal pattern. Or rather, everyone was attempting their normal dinner time conversations.  
  
"Dad?" Tenchi ventured.  
  
"What is it, son?" Nobuyuki smiled.  
  
"Any possibility you'll be home more next week?" Tenchi asked, not even remotely sure why.  
  
Nobuyuki sighed, remembering the past week. One of his "hell weeks," as they were called at the office. "I don't know, Tenchi. We have so many deadlines and almost a quarter of my team is AWOL and another quarter are sick from everything ranging from simple accidents to bizarre diseases I've never heard of."  
  
Kiyone, sitting next to Mihoshi and Nobuyuki; concerned at Nobuyuki's completely drained tone, asked: "You mean you're *still* doing the same work as a full team?"  
  
Mihoshi, just having eaten an entire bowel of rice, was also concerned. "You shouldn't wear yourself out like that, honorable father," she smiled, "I got an idea! Me and Kiyone can go in with you next week and help out!"  
  
Kiyone's eye twitched a bit. "Um, Mihoshi...wouldn't it just be easier, and more efficient to just track down the AWOL team members?" The teal-haired GP detective's expression brightened, "or for a certain father here to tell his clients they're just going to have to wait a little while longer?" she gave Nobuyuki a slight nudge with her elbow.  
  
"I know, girls, I know," Nobuyuki nodded, his hands raised slightly, his familiar smile on his face.   
  
Everyone at the table laughed a little at this, all except for Sasami. "What else is troubling you, father?" she asked in small voice.  
  
Nobuyuki stopped cold, as did everyone else at the table. For a moment, silence reigned in the Masaki house. The sounds of crickets were faintly audible from outside. Finally, after Kiyone put a reassuring hand on his shoulder, the Masaki father spoke in a voice not much bigger than Sasami's. "I...was watching the clock all day until I could go home," he sighed, trying to calm himself, "this morning I had considered doing overtime, an hour or two, but I was afraid that if I didn't get out of town, onto the train, that I would never leave Tokyo." He stopped, seemingly unwilling to go further.  
  
Ryoko, leveling a golden eyed stare at him, prompted: "What happened, Nobuyuki?"  
  
Nobuyuki looked around the room at his family, feeling their strength, but missing Washu and his father-in-law's presence and guidance. "Ugly rumors, mostly," he remembered over the past week or so. "It wasn't just the workload, my team either getting sick, playing hokey, or falling off the face of the Earth, it was what I would hear from my employees *at* work, or things I overheard while getting a beef-bowl."  
  
"When Ms. Ryoko and I went shopping in town three days ago," Ayeka remembered, "there were no police officers anywhere in Okayama."  
  
"Yes," Nobuyuki nodded, "that's one of the things," he clenched his fists, "I have an employee at work named Shimazaki, and she had a friend whose father passed away four days ago. Shimazaki told me that her friend's family are Christians, and they wanted their father to be buried."  
  
Nobuyuki shook his head, as if trying to shake out of a bad dream. "One day after work Shimazaki gets a call from her friend saying that the hospital officials, along with some men who seemed to be from some civil service branch, tried every which way to persuade her family to have their father cremated."  
  
Silence hung over the once happy dinner table. "Why?" Ryoko asked, "why would that be so important over the family's wishes?"  
  
The middle-aged father exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "I have no idea, Ryoko. But as things turned out, the family insisted on burial and the officials pointblank refused."  
  
"So the body was burned," Ayeka mused with a slight shudder. It was so different from the Jurain burial rite of internment under a sapling in one of the many orchards of Tsunami.  
  
"Yes," Nobuyuki seemed to be trying hard not to throw his half-eaten dinner back up, "but Shimazaki's friend had a minute alone with the body, which was in a body bag...the doctors had told her NOT to look inside at her father..."  
  
Tenchi closed his eyes and held his head in his hands.   
  
"Sasami," Ayeka started, "I think--"  
  
"No, Ayeka," Sasami looked up at her older sister sitting beside her. Ayeka did not challenge this.  
  
"This poor young woman opened the body bag to find her father with a bullet hole in his head," Nobuyuki shook slightly. "When the officials and doctors came back in, they simply ushered her out of the room," he looked around the table, "what was she to do? It's not like he was *killed* by the gunshot, he died that night in his sleep at home. She was there!"  
  
Everyone at the table just sat there stunned at this story.   
  
Nobuyuki continued, "since I heard that story from Shimazaki I've been piecing together other rumors I've heard. There's one about the Self Defense Force boys digging a hug ditch on one of the reclaimed lots out in Tokyo Bay, there's the one where all the kids with computers connected to that Internet thing talk to their friends in Europe or the United States; where they have a weird new disease called 'Slack Neck.'" He sighed, just barely holding back tears, "and I heard from a friend who is designing some buildings for the department of Waste Management," a tear slipped down his cheek, "he was out there yesterday and some SDF men were adjusting the large furnaces where garbage is usually burned."  
  
At the point Tenchi remembered an Oingo Boingo BBS posting he had read just that afternoon from a poster in Toronto, asking if anyone had heard anything about a phenomenon out in the rural areas with, what some American Midwestern wit termed, "Hood-smashers."  
  
Nobuyuki continued after taking a long sip of beer. "There seems to be a lot of people missing lately, if you ask me. It's not just my office, it's almost *every* business establishment I went into, or ate in this week. And all these news reports and announcements from the government to stay away from suspicious looking drunks and sick people..." he shook his head, and was silent for a moment. "I didn't really think much about it until I saw someone walking like they were drunk just outside of town. I didn't stop the car, and a police car was going in the opposite direction towards them with sirens blaring."  
  
Ayeka stood up, "well, I think it is high time we gather Ms. Washu and big brother together."  
  
"I agree," Tenchi also stood up, "until we know more we should all be careful."  
  
Ryouko floated herself to a standing position. "I guess this is what we get for not checking up on Earth news."  
  
"It wouldn't matter if you did," Nobuyuki sighed, "not now, anyway. No mention on any of the big news channels, or on the radio. Newspapers hardly had anything in them either, besides larger obituary sections."  
  
"No matter," Ayeka walked around the corner into the living room where Washu's door was. Ayeka's light knock was heard, "Ms. Washu? We need--AH!" the door was heard opening really fast.  
  
Both Tenchi and Ryoko went around the corner to find Ayeka smushed against the wall behind the door while Washu and Yosho stood in the doorway trying to catch their breath. Yosho recovered first, "Ayeka?" he let the door swing back and the Crown Princess of Jurai gently swept herself off, "I'm all right, I'm all right," she answered to everyone.  
  
"Washu, Old man," Ryoko nodded to each, "I suspect you know what Ayeka was coming to get you for."  
  
"I believe we may have an idea," Yosho adjusted his glasses.  
  
Washu gazed up at her daughter, "is everyone here?"  
  
Ryoko nodded.  
  
"Good."  
  
***  
  
But she couldn't do this, her conscience had screamed at her. She was a Galaxy Police officer, to let one criminal go in order to get a bigger, worst criminal was not right. As if in a torrent, examples flooded Mitsuki's memory of plea-bargains or immunity deals that, in essence, weren't a lot different than what Ortega was proposing. It's all just a question of either going through proper channels or going it alone and reaping the rewards of glory. Mitsuki knew that many GP's, of the Detective Kiyone Makibi vintage, would find fault with what she was doing.  
  
Thoughts that like this assailed Mitsuki as she went through the rest of her day. And yet, as she stood in front of the mirror in her quarter's that night, all she could remember is her telling Ortega that she would do it. She then used her secret password to shut down sensors, and substitute completely fabricated logs so that if Lamiz checked on her, he wouldn't see anything out of the ordinary, and planted a small untraceable explosive in the conduit. From there, all she had to do was go back to the cockpit and act surprised.  
  
Mitsuki loved computers, even though she never let anyone know about it. In fact, she purposefully did lackluster in her Programming classes at the Academy and hid all of the books she had read on the subject. Then there was her purposefully bad tests in her Explosives courses to cover up her fondness for small, almost undetectable, and ultimately untraceable hand grenades and thermal detonators. These things sustained her, and as she laid in her bunk at night she would tell herself that nothing brought about promotions quicker than unexpected skills.  
  
But as she soon discovered in the Academy, some people got opportunities by proving themselves "by the book" while others didn't. Some cadets, like a certain teal haired one in Mitsuki's past, proved the old axiom that hard work and diligence paid off, but not for Mitsuki. For Mitsuki, it wasn't enough to simply do your best for something you dearly wanted and only *hoped* would happen, you had to do everything in your power to *make* it happen.  
  
It so happened that Mitsuki enjoyed casual sex a lot. Despite her starting sexual activity later than normal for females from her planet, she got along quite well and found it easy, especially, to give head. Mitsuki was also bisexual, a point which helped her out later.  
  
In her freshmen year, she found out that her efforts to get an A in Galactic Pre-Law were hampered by a 85 she got on a test. It simply did not fit in Mitsuki's plan to get a B+ in Galactic Pre-Law, no sir it did not. To her surprise, she found that it wasn't too hard to approach her instructor about it, her to get his assurance that she would have an A if she treated him right. And she did, right there in his office one afternoon. Mitsuki sucked for all she was worth, and obediently swallowed every drop of his semen without one twinge of shame because she had what it took to succeed by any means necessary.  
  
Where hard work and playing by the rules fell short for Mitsuki there was always a hardened cock, or engorged clit of a professor or a superior to make her dreams advance one step further. "Anyone talking to you about dignity is obviously trying to make their pathetic lives seem better by comparison," she once wrote in her diary. In that respect, it is certain that no one in the Galaxy Police Academy class of Galactic Standard Year 4695 could ever compete with Mitsuki when it came to commitment or drive to achieve.  
  
While it was work a lot of the times, Mitsuki sometimes had partners that actually cared a bit about her pleasure, or wanted more than a mere academic/career business transaction. These instructors and superiors often times filled a void in her life as a type of boyfriend/girlfriend. Often times...but there were still necessary times when Mitsuki didn't go out with her friends, or pulled extra duty and study time to cover up her extra activities. She was the best teacher's pet in the quadrant, you could say. Always trying her best, always chipper, always ingratiating, and always overachieving according to her plan.   
  
Around her senior year, Mitsuki quite correctly suspected that her friends and enemies through the process of deduction had figured out her willingness to help out instructors. Not that she scared, in fact she felt a sort of relief of not having to worry about hiding it so. The only casualty caused by this was the friendship of Kiyone Makibi.   
  
Mitsuki sighed, getting ready for bed. Kiyone had taken Mitsuki's admission of fucking her way on to the Commandant's Honor List so much worse than she had expected. Could Kiyone not see that Mitsuki only wanted to be the best Galaxy Police officer there was? That she cared about that so much that she would do anything?  
  
"To hell with them," Mitsuki grumbled as she went to bed, "to hell with them all." She'll look back at all this when she's the Marshall with a wonderful husband and family and laugh at everything Kiyone had said in those days about integrity. Letting Honataru Ortega beam off the Exeter and planting that bomb to cover it up was just another step in the plan. She slept that night, dreams of sector command and higher stations merrily colliding together with two other dreams. One of a beautiful women with a painted face and cold eyes reaching her hand out to her; a man was walking towards her. The other dream was of a little girl with green hair giving her the same look that Kiyone gave her that day years ago; behind the little girl stood a young woman of similar features. Those eyes were full of pity, and eventhough there was no speaking Mitsuki knew that they wanted her to confess her wrongdoing.   
  
That night, Lamiz checking out the cell that Ortega had inhabited found Honataru's fingerprints against the walls of the cell next to the force field, and Mitsuki's on the opposite side of the force field wall. This was contrary to Mitsuki's habit of standing back at full posture during interrogation. Lamiz opened a new file that night, a grin on his face just as a subspace message was received ordering the Exeter to Orphalis II to assist in a "situation." Orphalis was a planet known primarily for its people's teal hair and devout religion with elaborate burial practices.  
  
***  
  
Ezekiel Hayes, the champion of the Dark Lady, Lady Tokimi, was standing above the planet Earth. Despite his human features and lack of pressure suit, he was not bothered in the least by the fact that he was standing in what could be called, in scientific terms, a geosyncronist orbit above the Northern Hemisphere. Europe had just passed by below him, with the vast expanse of Asia now making progress under his boot heels. Ezekiel, often called in his former life Zeke, or oftentimes just Z, thought with a smile that if he so desired he could just drop down from the sky onto Kazakhstan like some sort of obscene messiah.   
  
But he did not so desire, not now anyway. Now and again since his mission from his Dark Lady begin, he would oftentimes return to his planet of birth to look in on things. Just on October 8th he was in Bosnia, making sure a vital part of the early plan was followed through to the letter. The vital part, as his Lady explained to him, was for enough people to die in a certain way, arrive at a certain place, in a certain condition and at a certain time.   
  
It had been very easy to set the barracks afire, all he had to do was close his eyes, call upon his Lady, and just like a gas grill roasting wieners at Yankee Stadium did the building kindle and burn. As per Tokimi's instructions, the people did not die of burns, but violent smoke inhalation and suffocation. A burned body did not move particularly well, nor have all its faculties ready when the time came. Ezekiel did his job well, remembering the reward of his Lady's cold kiss.  
  
That is not to say that Ezekiel had his attentions and cold smile faced down on Earth alone. Since the days leading up to the zombie epidemic, he had visited at least one thousand different planets in five different galaxies. In particular the Milkey Way galaxy, he visited just over one hundred planets in the Jurain Kingdom, Galactic Union, Norforst Confederacy, Hus Empire, and numerous other unaffiliated planets, all the while spreading the grim joy of the greatest religious conversion tool ever devised since the days of the early Catholic Church on Earth, or the Order of Falfalis on a little known planet classified as FD-#5369 in the Galaxy Police database. Little known because the planet's population destroyed itself in the resultant conflict.  
  
Ezekiel chuckled at these little examples. Some people didn't know when to quit.  
  
Back on Earth since he left (the date was now October 15th) there was now a confirmed worldwide death toll of 98,459. So far the problem had not exploded and the general populous was dismissing anything they did not see with their own eyes, or heard from their goddess-damned silly news sources as being (Ezekiel's favorite expression from his childhood), "bullshit and B-flat."   
  
But things were becoming harder and harder for the higher-ups in the industrialized nations of the world to ignore. It was one thing to dismiss a few isolated reports and incidents as simple mass hysteria in highly localized rural populations, but when a governor of a state or province had to face the reality that over half of his police forces and medical rescue forces were either dead or unaccounted for, something had to give.  
  
And give it would, Ezekiel smiled thinly in the vacuum, the cranes and buzzards were all coming home to roost very soon on Earth and oh so many other planets, moons, asteroids, and space colonies across the universe. When they did, Ezekiel would be there to rally together those that were already on the side of the Dark Lady. Often times he would look inward and forward, trying to see what the future held for himself, Tokimi, and all that followed her. Ezekiel saw not only Earth faces amongst their ranks, but people from all the species and races on all the planets in the galaxy.   
  
Ezekiel smirked, so happy he felt like singing. Seeing no reason not to, he did:  
  
"When you hear the music you make a dip  
Into someone else's pocket then make a slip  
Steal a car and go to Las Vegas oh,  
the gigolo pool.  
Hanging out by the state line  
Turning Holy Water into wine  
Drinking it down oh,  
I'm on a bus on a psychedelic trip  
Reading murder books tryin' to stay hip.  
I'm thinkin' of you you're out there so  
Say your prayers.  
Say your prayers.  
Say your prayers."  
  
Tokimi always smiled when he did things like this, smiles were so rare on her face that he tried to bring one to it whenever he could. A smile that would make everyone afraid except for him and those in the Dark Lady's confidence. Ezekiel smiled broadly at the slowly passing Asian continent, today's work and his singing a little Billy Idol ought to have pleased his Dark Lady.  
  
***  
  
In his life, Warren Hudson had had his share of bad weeks, but as he sat in front of an intersection in Youngstown, Ohio waiting for the light to change, he felt this week took the prize. Every time he thought that after damn near a week he was STILL in Ohio he wanted to scream or cry. From one major and nearly major airport he went from one side of the state to another chasing flights out to the west coast. He had blown his best chance in Cincinatti by a traffic jam which caused him to lose 45 minutes. It had been downhill from there with him being drawn all the way around the state like a goat by a carrot being dangling in front of him.  
  
No...wait, goat and carrot don't quite go together, do they? Warren couldn't tell why. In fact, he couldn't tell much of anything anymore. Here he was, fifth car in an intersection traffic jam some one hundred cars deep on all sides and growing. The light was red, but for the past fifteen minutes it hadn't changed. For the first ten minutes all the drivers had remained calm until the first car's horn was hit in frustration, now the entire jam was full of beeping and people cursing to no one in particular.   
  
Just then on Warren's right he noticed some cars leaving the road and driving through the ditches to their destinations if they were turning right. The same thing was happening on his left. In Hudson's judgment it was only a matter of time before a crash occurred.  
  
For probably the thousandth time, he looked up at the red light. He was just in time to see it change. To a blinking yellow. "Great," he said to himself, "now we can attempt civilized four-way stop sign turns until we all crash into one another."  
  
Which did happened, on the first set of cars going across or making a left or right, much sooner than Warren expected. And there he was, with a minor traffic accident in front of him. He got out and asked if they needed any help, as he had a CB communicator.  
  
The two drivers thanked him and soon they were on the side of the road, watching the busy intersection function in a really craptacular fashion. The two drivers were a middle-aged office worker, Marge Kimble, and a young pizza delivery named Jack Dammers. Warren felt pretty at ease with them, sitting on the side of the road, considering they were all pretty damned stressed out.  
  
Hudson sat in his car with the driver's side door open as he tried to make contact with someone on the police band. Finally after a few minutes of static and garbled communications, he got something:  
  
"--get back and stay down, Unit 11."  
  
"Base, they're still comin'!"  
  
"Vic, can you get out of there?"  
  
"Fuck no, Base, there must be thirty in front of me, and fifty coming up the hill in back of me! I'm down to my last magazine!"  
  
Dammers and Kimble traded horrified looks at each other. Hudson looked down, and shook his head slowly.  
  
The police exchange went on:  
  
"Vic, Mitch and Harry will be there any second, just hold--"  
  
"Base, I'm not going to let them get me like they got Marcus."  
  
"Vic! What the fuck do you mean by that?! VIC?!"  
  
"Tell Elizabeth good-bye, Sam."  
  
"Unit 11, respond! RESPOND!!!"  
  
Ten seconds of static.  
  
"Ah, Base this is Unit 5 now approaching Rochshire Downs. We can see Vic's patrol car, but all we see is at least a hundred of the fuckers congregating around it....oh Jesus. Oh Jesus! There's Vic walking around just like one of them!"  
  
"Unit 5, get out of there now!"  
  
"Roger base, over and out."  
  
Hudson felt a slow, dull headache begin. He looked up at Marge and Jack, "you still want to try and get a policeman out here?"  
  
Jack shook his head. "Naw, man. I better just get home."  
  
"Me too," Marge seemed about to be sick, "thank you, sir." With that, the two immediately ran back to their cars, which still could drive, and sped off for points unknown leaving Hudson alone. He didn't even get a chance to shout be careful at them.  
  
Warren looked up at the sky, dark gray as late afternoon started to turn into evening. It was getting cold, Warren made a mental note to get a jacket out of his duffel bag later. But another more pressing problem began to weigh more heavily on his mind. He had not slept since the night before his first encounter with the zombie problem. Things like this happened to him a lot when he became preoccupied with something, his body would burn every last ounce of energy keeping him going like a rat on smack. In this situation, it really wasn't his fault as he was lured from one place to another frantically trying to leave the country.  
  
Hudson gazed around him at the amount of cars. It was too late. Too late. If he was going to get back to Okayama, he would have to do it by some other means than air travel. The question was... "The question is," Warren closed his eyes, needing rest but forcing himself not to fall asleep, "what is the best route?"  
  
"Warren."  
  
Hudson looked around, afraid his mind was finally fucked because of exhaustion. Then he glanced around real quick for zombies. Finding none his eyes wandered over to his driver's side mirror. Tsunami's lovely face was there.  
  
"I'm trying, Tsunami. But I seem to be having a really bad week over in the good old USA, same as with all your other children here," Warren's head lolled forward, he snapped it back up again.  
  
"Warren, I've told you about wearing yourself out," her mirror reflection frowned, "you need rest."  
  
Almost as if on cue, Warren burst into tears of exhaustion and frustration. "Why can't I get out of here, Goddess?" he asked, desperate.  
  
Tsunami shook her head, "something tells me you need to be there when the time comes."  
  
Warren gazed at the reflection of the Supreme Being in the small mirror. "All right, Goddess...please tell me what to do, because I really have no idea where to begin."  
  
Tsunami's face became stern. "That's somewhat due to your working yourself to exhaustion, Warren."  
  
"I'm sorry," Warren's slumped forward again, dragged himself back to an upright position.   
  
"First thing's first, Knight of Jurai, you *must* rest," Tsunami commanded.  
  
Hudson's eyes looked around the intersection, about a quarter of a mile up the road he could see a motel sign. Two story brick construction, cheap but not too shitty, along with steep stairs that he hoped would prevent zombies from coming up them. "Yeah, that place over there looks okay."  
  
"Then go," Tsunami smiled, "you have enough strength to get you there...but only just barely," her reflection closed her eyes briefly, "I so wish I could just pluck you up and set you down somewhere, Warren..."  
  
"No need for apologies, Goddess," Warren smiled, yawned. Site to site divine transportations were out of the question for the Ship of Jurai. Hell, the only way up to Tsunami was by way of Funaho or the Master Key. Suddenly, a wry thought entered Warren's mind. "I guess I chose a hell of a time to try and do some fall mining work in the great coal mines of West Virginia, didn't I?"  
  
"We all make mistakes, Warren. Even I," Tsunami sighed. "I'll talk to you when you get your room, be sure to fortify it as much as you can!" she warned.  
  
"I will, Tsunami." With that, the reflection of the Goddess faded from his driver's side mirror.  
  
***  
  
"All right," Washu said, motioning to a type of interactive holographic projection of the planet Earth. Various points and flags of reference blinked on and off in the Masaki living room. Typically for a presentation like this all the lights would be out but no one felt any urge to do so tonight. "This is obviously Earth," Washu indicated the blue sphere with a small laser pointer with a crab emblem on it. "Starting one week ago, the entire surface of this planet has been bombarded with class VIII Solanic radiation bursts in an amount that I have never observed before here, or anywhere else in the universe."  
  
"Okay," Ryoko said a little impatiently, "how does this tie in with what Nobuyuki just finished telling us before you two ran back up here?"  
  
"It's simple, Ryoko," Yosho pushed up his glasses, "after some experimentation myself and Professor Washu have determined exactly what effect these radiation bursts are having."  
  
Tenchi raised his hand.  
  
"Yes, Tenchi?" Washu asked, she seemed tired.   
  
"Washu, just tell us what's going on," Tenchi seemed even more tired.  
  
"Yes..." Washu nodded, "time is of the essence," she tapped the planet Earth hologram right on the eastern seaboard of the United States. The hologram zoomed into a detailed topographical map of the area between Maine and Florida. "I am about to show you one of my scans of this area."  
  
A holographic display popped into existence above the state of Pennsylvania. It was filled with static and strange popping noises.   
  
"...um, Ms. Washu?" Mihoshi asked.  
  
"Yes, Mihoshi," Washu nodded her head sadly, "those are my scans."  
  
"So the radiation disrupts scanning?" Ayeka ventured cautiously.  
  
"Not just that, sister," Yosho pointed to the screen. "When I first came to Professor Washu a week ago I had just operated some of Funaho's scanning capabilities, I got less of the same with Funaho's faltering sensors--"  
  
"--but that means the radiation disrupts Jurai power as well?" Ayeka finished, almost whispering.  
  
Yosho nodded sadly.   
  
Sasami shifted somewhat uncomfortably on the couch. "Funaho couldn't tell you anything, big brother?"  
  
"Her scanners and systems could yield no more information than Washu's, as it turned out," Yosho took a seat beside his youngest sister, giving her a reassuring hug.  
  
Kiyone stood, "then that leaves Yagami's sensors--"  
  
"Kiyone," Washu said firmly, "sit down and wait until I finish."  
  
The teal-haired GP detective reluctantly sat down.  
  
Washu took a deep breath, her child form was tired. After this she would probably collapse right on the couch and sleep for a day or so. "Yagami's sensors would do no better," Washu sighed, "beyond basic life-form readings and communications, because the radiation bursts have somehow totally disrupted *all* dimensional activity on this planet. And I strongly suspect other planets have the same problem as well."  
  
Stunned silence filled the room except for Mihoshi munching on a cookie.  
  
"You mean to tell us," Tenchi said slowly, "that if you wanted to open a portal from one side of Japan to the other--"  
  
"The tunnel across dimensional space would not form," Washu finished.  
  
"Uh," Nobuyuki raised his hand, "how does this relate to all the weird things that have been going on, exactly?"  
  
"I've been trying to find out by such inefficient and primitive means as eavesdropping on radio and other transmissions," Washu chuckled without humor, "so far it looks like half the galaxy is trying to keep a big secret from the other half, and even itself."  
  
Yosho silently nodded at this. Sasami gazed at the hologram for a minute. She stood, clasped her hands in front of her:   
  
"Of all the things that hell hath wrought,  
of all the souls that it has bought,  
It seems that hell cannot hold anymore,  
so the dead haunt the living once more."  
  
Silence, black silence. As if the secret fear that everyone sitting there, a fear so secret they themselves had convinced themselves it could not be, was laid out on the coffee table where Ayeka usually did her knitting.  
  
Washu sighed, "I don't have absolute proof yet, but my simulations suggest that these radiations particles could collect in the part of the human and Jurain brain that controls instinct...perhaps adversely effected by the type of neuro-electric bursts that fire in the hours immediately following death. If this is the case, then it is safe to assume it would affect other humanoids as well."  
  
"Oh...my," Mihoshi dropped her half-eaten cookie, her hands on her face.  
  
"Kami-sama..." Tenchi breathed, putting all the scraps of information together into something that fit all the available facts.  
  
Nobuyuki wept into his hands.  
  
"I think," Ayeka said hesitantly, "that until Ms. Washu figures out what is wrong, that no one go anywhere without someone with them. This includes sleeping arrangements."  
  
Ryoko laughed drly, "that suits us just fine, doesn't it, Tenchi?" from her tone it was clear she was just trying to introduce a little levity into a rapidly worsening situation. The gesture was appreciated but no one laughed, except for Tenchi in his usual nervous manner. With that it was agreed to with the caveat, proposed by Ayeka, that Tenchi and Ryoko would sleep in Ayeka and Sasami's room. Kiyone and Mihoshi immediately left to the Yagami to see if they could find out anything by calling Galaxy Police HQ.  
  
***  
  
As October 15th melted into the 16th, the middle echelon brass of the US military was trying its best to convince the top brass that the zombie problem could be easily contained with simple, logical, and common sense measures that had been effectively implemented on the base in Dover where the problem showed up early on October 9th, and in several bases scattered across the South, Midwest, and Pacific Northwest. The middle echelon effectively argued that the situation was only getting more and more out of hand with each passing hour the boys at the top (on up to the Joint Chiefs and the President himself) continually listened to the ignorant happy horse shit the media was pumping out.  
  
When it came to the media's ignorant happy horse shit, while most local radio stations where pretty good with acknowledging the situation as it became apparent, as you went up the ladder of importance mentions of the zombie problem diminished. On national news and cable news nary a word was uttered because of several decisions being made in areas that ranged from local program directors, copy editors, executives and finally the newscasters themselves. These decisions ranged from honest belief that it was a hoax, inconclusive reports, no reports at all, and a general feeling that whoever reported such a thing first will damage their careers instead of furthering them.  
  
As one news anchor at CBS said, "I'll be goddamned if I'm going to be the one to say the dead are coming back to life and then get laughed at."  
  
This attitude was alarmingly present in state governors and attorney generals, as well. But by 8:10 PM EST one governor had decided that he had had enough. Governor David Glendale, R-NH was a three term holdover from the Barry Goldwater generation of GOP politics. His no-nonsense style had carried him from being a Nashua State Representative through the primary and finally into the Governor's mansion, and it would serve him well once again as he called a press conference for 8:30 PM. Here follows a 100% verbatim transcript of the relevant portions of the press conference.  
  
Gov. Glendale: "My fellow citizens of the state of New Hampshire, a great calamity has befallen not only us as a state, but as a nation, and I suspect maybe the entire world. I am ashamed to admit that this situation was only brought to my attention just this morning at around 7:00AM when I discovered that the Manchester chief of police, George Desmond, was killed in action against a mob of flesh-eating reanimated corpses."  
  
the entire press seemed completely agast at this, no pictures were taken until Glendale started speaking again  
  
Gov. Glendale: "You heard me. Zombies are now wandering all over the state, and I have good, reliable reports of them in Vermont, upstate New York, and Massachusetts. The reason I have called this press conference tonight is to say that the state of New Hampshire acknowledges this epidemic of zombism and is doing everything it can to control it within its borders. It is my hope that my actions here tonight and in the days to come will force the news media, the military, my fellow Governors, and the President himself to take action."  
  
questions are shouted at Glendale  
  
Gov. Glendale: "Please...PLEASE! Wait until I'm finished! Then you shitheads can pick this apart and make me sound and look like I'm crazy. But...you know what? I'll take that chance. I am hereby under the powers granted to me by the Constitution of the state of New Hampshire and the United States ordering out the National Guard statewide. Same with all police officers and state troopers. Every able-bodied man...hell, woman too, anyone above the age of 18 who can use a firearm is requested...no, I PLEAD for you to report to your county Sheriff for organization into squads to combat this problem."  
  
one of the questions is a derisive question asked by a fat reporter from the Manchester ABC affiliate: "And how do we do that? With garlic and holy water?" he laughs as well as other reporters  
  
Gov. Glendale: "That's very simple, Timmy. As of this moment and until further notice I hereby order that all the bodies of the recently deceased are to be put out in the middle of city streets and burned by the squads to be formed under the command of the county Sheriffs."  
  
...somebody drops their camera  
  
Gov. Glendale: "Only by pulling together, can we survive this terrible situation."  
  
***  
  
The press conference of Governor Glendale of New Hampshire caused a ripple effect felt not only across the country, but across the world. Now the news media was more or less forced to report on such a bizarre press conference. Some people didn't believe, in fact many didn't. In New Hampshire the day after Glendale's press conference, it seemed obvious that two-thirds did not believe it, but the one third who *did* believe organized into the squads the Governor had ordered. These squads (it should be noted, however, that all the Sheriffs and police chiefs in New Hampshire followed Glendale's orders) began the first organized effort to contain the zombie problem on Earth. Civilian resistance to this, however, was often times extreme.  
  
***  
  
Ryoko and Sasami had taken upon themselves a mission. They were busy tracking down Ryo-ohki who had not come to dinner. This had not alarmed them at the time, owing to Ryo-ohki swiping so many carrots between breakfast and lunch, they simply assumed the little cabbit was taking a break for once. This notion was dispelled as soon as the new state of emergency swept the Masaki residence. Night had fallen on the valley of the Masaki Shrine, in more ways than one.  
  
"Ryo-ohki!" Sasami shouted through her cupped hands as she and Ryoko walked slowly down a path through the woods.  
  
Ryoko was searching telepathically for her cabbit, "she's right around here, Sasami. Just within the next ten or so meters."  
  
They found her exactly 10.04 meters from there, sitting up against a tree, looking more than a little queasy. "Myaa..." the cabbit tried to meow as Sasami and Ryoko ran to her side. Sasami scooped up the cabbit in her arms.   
  
"Ryo-ohki? What's wrong?" the young princess asked worriedly.  
  
"You eat too much *again*?" Ryoko shook her head in disappointment.  
  
"Myaa, myaa..." the cabbit shook her head weakly in the negative.  
  
Ryoko sighed, "you tossed your carrots yet?"  
  
The cabbit indicated a point on the ground with her floppy ear. Both Ryoko and Sasami tried not to look at the pile of cabbit vomit.   
  
"Oh, my poor little Ryo-ohki," Sasami cuddled the furry cabbit again.  
  
"Come on," Ryoko glanced around suspiciously, "let's get back to the house, Washu will give her some medicine."  
  
***  
  
They arrived back at the house to find Tenchi and Yosho speaking with Azaka and Kamidake.  
  
"Do your scanners report anything out of the ordinary?" Tenchi asked Azaka.  
  
The guardian log's red light blinked for a half-second. "As near as I can tell, Lord Tenchi, within the vicinity of some ten square kilometers nothing is amiss."  
  
Both Yosho and Tenchi frowned.  
  
"However," Kamidake intoned ponderously, his blue light blinking, "if Professor Washu is right in her assumptions, it is very possible our limited scanning capabilities might be hampered and we would not even know it."  
  
Yosho groaned, "Azaka...Kamidake, what *can* you do to help us, then?"  
  
"Even if we are not able to detect a reanimated corpse," Azaka said cautiously, "however such a non-lifeform would read, we'll still be able to maintain round-the-clock visual and motion surveillance of the entire valley."  
  
"In that case," Tenchi said, "you see anyone who doesn't look, well, *alive*... inform us, go out, and capture it."  
  
Yosho gave his grandson a look.  
  
"Grandpa," Tenchi said with conviction, "we need to see this threat up close so that we know what we're up against. If it is...what we think it is."  
  
"Yes, yes," Yosho nodded, "you're right, Tenchi." He smiled inwardly in pride at his grandson's foresight.  
  
"Hey Tenchi!" Ryoko shouted as she and Sasami approached, receiving a wave in response. Tenchi ran over to join them, his expression darkening at the obviously ill cabbit.  
  
"The poor girl," Tenchi shook his head, his brow furrowing in concentration for a moment. "Ryoko..?"  
  
The Space Pirate shook her head, "I thought about that, too, Tenchi. If this radiation is somehow disrupting dimensional forms of energy, which seems to be making Ryo-ohki sick, why do I feel okay?"  
  
Sasami bit her lower lip in thought, remembering that Ryoko spent an unusual amount of time in the bathroom this morning. "Ryoko?" the little princess asked.  
  
"Yeah?" Ryoko looked down at Sasami.  
  
"You were in the bathroom for over a half-hour this morning..." Sasami said quietly.  
  
Ryoko frowned. Yes, there was that.  
  
"Ryoko?" Tenchi asked.  
  
"I had a stomach ache this morning, Tenchi," Ryoko admitted, with just a twinge of shame.  
  
Yosho walked up to the group. "A stomach ache, Ryoko?" the old prince said, scratching his gray mustache. "Have you told Washu?"  
  
"Well," Ryoko shrugged, "no."  
  
Tenchi looked at Ryoko with obvious concern. The idea that Ryoko could actually get stomach aches was certainly news to him. "How often do you have stomach aches, Ryoko?"  
  
The cyan-haired Space Pirate stood in silent contemplation for a moment with her eyes closed. "Three times before," she ticked the points off on her fingers. "First time was right after Kagato had me attack Jurai," she winced, "the second....when you, Yosho," she forced iron determination into her voice, "defeated me...third, a day or so after Kagato was defeated."  
  
"Each time after a massive disruption of dimensional energy," Yosho mused.  
  
Washu opened the front door. "There you guys are!" Washu shouted , "the shit's really hitting the fan," she nodded back in the house. "It's everywhere. China, France, Africa, Russia, United States...*everywhere*!" Washu's eyes darted back and forth. "I just got off the comm with Yagami, Kiyone says it's on several Galactic Union and Jurain planets too!"  
  
Sasami gasped, "Ayeka--"  
  
"She's already sent a message to Jurai, Sasami," Washu said, trying to alleviate Sasami's obvious fears as much as possible.  
  
Yosho looked up at the sky above. A slight night breeze was rustling across the valley, the moon was illuminating some clouds moving in from the north. Stars blinked silently in their heavens above. To Yosho's trained senses the smells brought to him by the breeze told of a storm coming later in the night. 'But,' Yosho found himself thinking as he and the family filed back into the house, 'will the coming storm purify us, or destroy us?"  
  
  
***  
  
On the Jurain backwater planet of Alonia, the zombie threat was heeded right away and while not eradicated, was effectively dealt with. A message was sent to King Azusa on Jurai, informing him. Azusa, knowing that a blanket declaration to the public would go over like a lead balloon, decided to send a secret message to all royal planetary governors to be on the watch for zombies and secure important facilities. Burial officials were also warned early, and the Jurain custom of no one being allowed to view the corpse before internment really saved the day here; no one ever found out about the blaster holes. But often enough this was not even necessary, as Tsunamism places a high emphasis on organ donation. Corpses missing enough body parts will not reanimate.  
  
However, the good news ends here. Almost immediately through problems ranging from planetary mismanagement, bureaucratic SNAFUs, to inefficiency and incompetence in several sector commanders of the Galaxy Police, the Galactic Union had twelve planets going red, with another twenty-six on the way and sixty-three showing signs of "Dead sickness" as it was being termed.   
  
The initial GP response was the erroneous assumption that the zombie problem was a bacterium contagion. Strict, immediate, and ruthless medical quarantines of red areas and planets were ordered. This highlighted a slowly simmering tension between the GP, the Galactic Union's Congress, member planets themselves, and the Galactic Union's Constitution, which many court interpretations over the millennia maintained that what the GP was doing was unconstitutional.  
  
As can be expected, it was only a matter of time before the first planetary governor called bullshit on this. That planet was Sima Ssuma. Two out of three continents on the planet of 5 million went red within the first three days of the beginning of the radiation bombardments; and the government was handling it fairly well. Fairly well that is until the planet's contingent of Galaxy Police, acting under orders of sector commander Wilek Otohime, ordered a complete clampdown of Sima Ssuma and a quarantine of the red areas *without* so much as informing the governor or the planetary assembly.  
  
Compounding the situation was the GP's refusal to discuss the quarantine and simply refer to an obscure Article in Galactic Law regarding emergency situations. Many believed the law was a fabrication and that the GP had no constitutional authority to do what it was doing. As a matter of fact, they were right. As a *further* matter of fact, it didn't matter. There never was an investigation and no one to hold an inquiry.  
  
***  
  
Hudson barely was able to get himself and his bags up to his room, then make preparations before feeling his legs give out. Turning the TV on, Warren crawled into bed before falling asleep for a day or so. That is not to say that the room wasn't fortified by Hudson before hand as well as it could be. Warren had drawn the blinds, locked, barricaded the door, and created a place for his weapons with another chair and a type of writing desk; from where he could shoot with some level of cover.  
  
If anyone had been observing Hudson as he set up his safe room, they would have only seen a determined six foot tall, muscular white man between thirty and forty years of age, driving himself to the point of emotional and physical breakdown. But from Hudson's point of view, his brain was practically on autopilot as he conversed with Tsunami.  
  
"What if I wake up and I can't get out of here?" he asked.  
  
"You're certainly not coming to the Shrine in that condition, Knight," a touch of wry humor could be heard in the Goddess' voice.  
  
"Once again I'm sorry, Goddess, I seem to be lost again in all of your mysteries," he chuckled darkly as he had set up his shooting barricade.  
  
Tsunami laughed. "You need someone to tell you when you're ignoring your needs."  
  
"Consider me reminded, Goddess," Warren smiled as he drew back the covers on the bed. "Please Tsunami, your other children need your guidance, please don't let me take up all your time with my unworthy problems...as you said, I brought them upon myself."  
  
"Warren," he felt a hand on his shoulder, Tsunami's voice was her gentle persuasive tone she used with one of her trusted ones, "I can do many things at once, and my concerns right now are a multitude. Don't think I'm straining myself."  
  
"Yeah...I just hope I feel good enough in a day to hack through a mountain of the Dark Lady's gift to us," Warren was about to sleep in his clothes, which stank yes, but Tsunami had other concerns. "Is sleeping clothed any way for a Knight of Jurai to meet his biological needs?"  
  
Warren looked down at his clothes. "Yes...I probably should get out of these. But is...masturbating at a time like this really an optimum use of my time?"  
  
"It *is* an optimum use of your other sword and your seed, Knight of Jurai," Tsunami told him quite firmly. "You are too tired right now, but you need to relieve the tension I can feel in you."  
  
"All right. As you command," Warren stripped naked and slid underneath the covers, first putting the gladius in a place where his hands could easily find it. Soon he was asleep. Tsunami watched him during all of his slumber, always ready to awaken him if things became too dangerous. Hudson was so on edge for the past week that he was nearly unable to reach proper REM sleep, more than once he nearly awoke, but Tsunami was there to whisper reassuringly: "Be at rest, Son of Jurai."   
  
If anyone had been privileged enough to have seen the face of the Goddess, they would have seen silent tears.  
  
TO BE CONTINUED...  
  
Yes, Lemony goodness begins next chapter with a masturbation scene. You have been warned. As this chapter is on fanfiction.net, I ask that if you want to read what happens next, you read the upcoming chapters on TMFFA.   
  
Next Chapter...Warren heads north to Detroit, while Mitsuki's designs fall apart, Ayeka notices something changing in both Tenchi and Ryoko, and Ezekiel spends some quality time with Dr. Clay and Tokimi. 


	2. Ball of Confusion

"In the long run we are all dead." - John Maynard Keynes

"You let me violate you. You let me desecrate you  
You let me penetrate you. You let me complicate you  
Help me i broke apart my insides. Help me i've got no soul to sell  
Help me the only thing that works for me. Help me get away from myself

I want to fuck you like an animal  
I want to feel you from the inside  
I want to fuck you like an animal  
My whole existence is flawed  
You get me closer to god

You can have my isolation. You can have the hate that it brings  
You can have my absence of faith. You can have my everything  
Help me you tear down my reason. Help me it's your sex i can smell  
Help me you make me perfect. Help me become somebody else

I want to fuck you like an animal  
I want to feel you from the inside  
I want to fuck you like an animal  
My whole existence is flawed  
You get me closer to god

Through every forest, above the trees  
Within my stomach. Scraped off my knees  
I drink the honey inside your hive  
You are the reason I stay alive"

- "Closer" Nine Inch Nails

Tenchi Muyo - Negative Genesis  
Part 1, Chapter 2. "Ball of Confusion."

By JockoMegane.

This story is inspired by "The Stand" by Stephen King, and "Dawn of the Dead" written/directed by George A. Romero. More and more inspiration from "The Lord of the Rings" by JRR Tolkien is also starting to creep into my mind while writing this. Not too mention many other sources which have slowly colonized my mind over the years.

Send all comments and criticisms to:

SYNOPSIS: A long tale of Dark Tsunamism.

DISCLAIMER: Tenchi and his gang of vigilante crime fighters along with various Pretty Sammy bingo league members are the property of Pioneer LDC, AIC, and Hiroki Hayashi, er...did I say Hayashi? I meant Masaki Kajishima, of course! "The Stand" is the property of Stephen King, and "Dawn of the Dead" is (should) be the property of George A. Romero. I'm not making any money from this venture, neither should anyone else. All the works which I make reference to herein are done in the greatest of humility and admiration. Please don't sue me.

MISSION STATEMENT: This story is intended as coming from the balls.

NOTE: The continuity in this story is OVA 2 plus Kiyone. For this tale, GXP and Kajishima's OVA 3 don't exist.

Very special thanks to KaiKerrigan, EvilPii, jaug, Negative-Z, Lostowl, and Carnage Black for the reliable sounding boards, suggestions, support and beta reads while this work was being undertaken.

Edited by Carnage Black, Zyraen, and EvilPii.

For kyokki.

Before we begin...in chapter 1 oh so long ago, I stated that Negative Genesis would have three parts, with three chapters each, for a grand total of nine chapters. This, over the past year, has shown me how deluded I was at the beginning. Simply, as Tolkien said of "The Lord of the Rings," this is a tale that is growing in its telling. I will try to make it all worthwhile. Please bear with me.

All song lyrics in all of my fics are stolen from archived usenet postings, my thanks to all who assisted in Google and Usenet's existence. The title of this chapter is from a Love and Rocket's song...titled, well, "Ball of Confusion."

000

Some campus group, probably either the Students for Jurain Annexation, or the Gamarian Independence Party, had been busy in the composition lab during the night of October 16-17 (Earth time, of course). In the morning, these posters were plastered all over the University of Gamaria at Tlei City campus:

PEOPLE OF GAMARIA! YOU ARE BEING LIED TO!  
THE GALACTIC UNION'S CONSTITUTION IS A SHAM!  
THE ADMINISTRATION OF THIS UNIVERSITY, IN COOPERATION WITH THE FASCIST GALAXY POLICE, HAS BEEN DECEIVING US! DO NOT BELIEVE THEM!

FACTS:

1) THE WALKING SICKNESS IS NOT CANTAGIOUS BY RESPIRATION! IT IS TRANSFERED BY BITING!

2) THE WALKING SICKNESS IS NOT BEING ERADICATED ON THIS PLANET BECAUSE OF DEFENSE CONTRACTORS IN THE GALAXY POLICE ORGANIZATION DESIRING A NEW WEAPON!

3) THE VACCINES BEING HANDED OUT BY INFIRMARY DOCTORS DO NOTHING TO PROTECT YOU AGAINST THE WALKING SICKNESS!

4) THE WALKING SICKNESS IS, IN FACT, NOT AN ISOLATED EVENT ON GAMARIA, IT HAS BEEN REPORTED BY OUR REVOLUTIONARY BROTHERS AND SISTERS ON MANY WORLDS DOMINATED BY THE FASCIST PARAMILITARY GALAXY POLICE!

5) THE LAWFUL GOVERNMENT OF GAMARIA, IN THE PERSON OF GOVERNOR MELKOR SUTY AND HIS CABINENT HAS IN FACT BEEN PLACED UNDER ARREST BY THE FORCES OF THE PLANETARY AND SECTOR GALAXY POLICE.

ALL PEOPLES OF GAMARIA UNITE! MEET AT ADONIS PARK AT 16:00 HOURS! THE TIME FOR ACTION IS NOW!

000

Detective first class Kiyone Makibi and her partner, Mihoshi Kuramitsu, were in orbit around the Earth, trying to get in communication with GP HQ. So far, no success. "Kiyone...?" Mihoshi asked as she glanced warily back and forth from her console and the Earth floating by serenely outside her view port.

"Hmm?" Kiyone grunted as she cycled through another band of subspace radio bands.

"How many..." the blonde hesitated, looking down at the blue planet, "do you think are dead, Kiyone?" Mihoshi gulped, then forced herself not to cry again: "How many do you think are walking around down there?"

"I'm trying not to, Mihoshi. Keep checking those emergency bands," Kiyone spared a half-second to look at her partner with concern before returning to the rapidly blinking frequency display.

Mihoshi nodded, duty calling once more. After about five minutes, the blonde-haired woman found something.

"Put it on the speaker," Kiyone ordered. The sounds that greeted both GPs chilled them to their very souls.

On the Galactic Union planet, Carpelton, the Yagami was eavesdropping on the emergency band only used when things were bad, very bad. From what Kiyone and Mihoshi heard, things were already at very bad and rapidly getting worse.

"TE-459, this Commander Narsay; report."

"Commander, this is TE-459 at the planetary militia base in the capital city. It appears they are mobilizing. I believe their objective is to secure the government buildings."

"TE-459..." Narsay could be heard gathering his thoughts together. "No... No, that is not in the Galactic Union's interest, is it?

The officer at the other end hesitated, "N-No, Commander. This is not."

Narsay had no such problems with hesitation. "Understand this very carefully, officer. Code Green-44."

"... Understood, TE-459 out."

"May the hand of God be with you," the sound of resigned death in Narsay's voice almost seems to cause the temperature in Yagami's cockpit to drop a degree or two.

Kiyone blinked, unable to believe what she was hearing over the cosmos. "... Kiyone?" Mihoshi asked hesitantly, "isn't Code Green-44..."

"Yes, Mihoshi," Kiyone said, finding her mouth very dry, "subdue at all costs."

"But, why would they need to subdue the planetary militia?" Mihoshi seemed about to cry.

Kiyone's eye twitched. She toggled the send switch on the comm. "Commander Narsay, this is Detective Kiyone Makibi on the patrol ship Yagami, AE-5896, we are listening in to your exchange. Please explain yourself."

For about a full minute there was nothing but subspace static. Then, "Patrol ship Yagami, we are in the process of containing a situation. With all due respect, fuck you and get off this channel before I have your ass hauled in front of an inquiry."

Kiyone sneered, "same to you, Commander. I repeat, explain yourself."

Later, Kiyone said that she could almost hear the vein in Narsay's forehead become visible. "Yagami, this planet is going red faster than tree decorations a day before Startica on Jurai, we have quarantined the capital city to prevent anyone from leaving and infecting surrounding areas and planets. If the planetary governor and militia want to cooperate, that is fine. However, over the past few minutes, it looks they are not cooperating, and that is not fine. Understood, detective?"

Kiyone was about to reply when another channel noticed Narsay's end. "Commander, ah, this is ARVN-1795 at the planetary assembly building. It looks like the militia detachment is challenging the blockade."

Both Kiyone and Mihoshi traded horrified looks as the exchange went on light-years away.

Narsay allowed a few seconds before he responded. "Have you implemented the warning portions of Code Green-44, officer?"

"Yes," the officer's voice seemed to shake a bit over the static.

"Very well then, ARVN," Narsay seemed distant, "go on to portion cue, as in cue ball, of the same code, understood?"

"..."

"ARVN, is that understood!" Narsay only raised his voice just a pinch.

"Yes..." the officer said feverishly. "Yes, Commander," sounding stronger now. "ARVN out."

"Good luck, officer," Narsay said with some amount of reverence.

Kiyone toggled the send switch, "Narsay! You can't just open fire on the legal defense force of a member planet!" she blared, completely losing her composure. "If you do not desist I will, with the four Gods as my witness, make it my life's work to see that you spend the rest of your life in prison; or worse!"

Mihoshi watched in stunned silence, sure that her partner in life was about to cry. She did, but not so much that she still could not scream back into the comm.

"Narsay!" Kiyone screamed.

The only sounds over Narsay's connection that greeted them was the rattling explosions of a battle being fought on what sounded like an old mono-speaker television. Clearly heard by Mihoshi and Kiyone were sonic motor rounds exploding and blaster rifle fire being exchanged, and screaming, muffled and not-so-muffled . There were cracking sounds too. Too soft to be clearly discerned at first, but after a few seconds, it was that clear, sickening, wet snapping of someone close to the comm link getting their skull knocked in. It just went on and on.

All Mihoshi could think about was the opening scene on one of Nobuyuki's Laserdiscs, called "Wargames". "'Turn your key, sir,'" Mihoshi quoted aimlessly.

They listened for perhaps ten seconds before Kiyone cut the connection. It took another thirty seconds for her to pull herself together. "All right, Mihoshi," Kiyone kept her voice level, "I think we should forget about help from HQ in this."

Mihoshi gently laid her hand on Kiyone's. "Yes, Kiyone."

Kiyone let one last teardrop roll down her cheek before she hastily put on a smile. "Hey... we always do our best when we're on our own, don't we?"

Mihoshi smiled brightly, the kind of smile Kiyone always liked. "Yeah, we sure do, Kiyone," she squeezed the teal-haired woman's hand.

The blue Earth continued its slow spin below them. In orbital mode, the Yagami's systems were typically on standby with nary a sound. For the moment, the entire universe around the two GPs was as silent as a grave.

000

Dreams for Warren Hudson were typically the only thing he could look forward to at the end of his hard days. Since leaving Okayama in 1952 and becoming a wanderer, his days were filled with traveling, odd jobs, training, book reading, and more training. Before leaving Okayama, his life was training, cleaning, and serving his Prince Yosho. Before that, with Tsunami, his life was regeneration of the body, spirit, and mind. Before Tsunami, he was an American Prisoner of War in one of the only prison camps on the Japanese mainland. His days were nightmares. Before that, Warren Hudson was a private in the United States Marine Corps. Moreover, even before that, he was a Nebraska farm boy, working for his abusive Uncle.

However, in dreams... In dreams, Warren was able to leave his dreary life behind and steel himself for the next day's trials. His dreams, precious coping mechanism they were, first became more than nightly escapes when Tsunami healed his soul.

000

August 12th, 1945. Early morning.

There was not much left after his nearly three years in a Japanese POW camp, there was even less left after the forced march across the rural backwoods of the Okayama region. Then, there was really nothing left of the pre-Tsunami Warren Hudson after the Japanese soldiers tried to execute him, only succeeded in blowing a good chunk out of his skull and a good portion of his brain. Warren had laid there, seemingly dead in the rainy night, but only in shock. He regained some sense of place and... realized the soldiers were gone... His eyes opened wide and Warren faced the lighting-illuminated sky, when he noticed an imperfection of light coming from someplace close by. Later, he would amend that statement by saying that the imperfection of light was no imperfection at all. No, not at all...

'That's some really fuckin' colorful lightin',' was his first somewhat coherent thought after being shot.

Somehow, he had managed to get to his feet, and in the rain and mud, he sought that light through the forest. Warren fell and involuntarily lock his legs countless times, but even if he had to claw his way closer with his very teeth, he was going to get to that heavenly light. This light shone not of blinding white, like the preachers that Warren never believed said, but of color.

'All the colors of the rainbow...' The thought consumed his mind. Somehow, a rainbow never seemed so beautiful to Warren Hudson as it did in that moment when he dragged himself through the grounds of the Masaki Shrine towards the source of the light; a tree with various Shinto prayers tied to it's branches. Warren recognized the things surrounding the tree; spirit wards they were called. He was able to get on the path, but the stepping-stones across the water presented a problem. Warren's knees continually locked, or his right or left leg lost feeling, skewing his course. At this point, however, he did not care and was greatly content to be moving in the general direction of the tree. Warren thrashed steadily through the shallow pond around the tree, intent on the inviting system of overgrown roots under the ancient trunk.

He was under the source of the heavenly light now and found that his body would not move one more inch forward, his life's strength finally giving out. Warren Hudson heaved himself up onto the inviting gnarly roots at the base of the tree. He was face up to the branches as the rain splattered on his face, mixing with blood and tears. The storm was starting to dissipate then, the stars and moon above seemed to be peering down at him through the wide branches above. For years before, Warren had felt that the even the stars were indifferent, if beautiful, to him, but now all he could think of was how inviting they seemed to him now.

Warren laughed as he cried, his life ebbing away like the rain cleaning his face. It was odd. For the first time in his life, he felt truly at peace with himself and all around him. Here, at the end of his life's journey, he felt bizarrely triumphant, almost giddy as things faded away.

There was no dream for him then. For a long time there was only blackness for him.

000

Kiyone and Mihoshi walked back in the Masaki family front door, still dressed in their uniforms, eyes facing the fine polished floors once so admired and maintained by Achika Masaki. Nobuyuki and Tenchi met them there.

"Anything?" Tenchi asked.

Kiyone shook her head in the negative, she clenched her fists. "N-Nothing," the word seemed dead the moment it dropped from her mouth.

Tenchi shook his head in disbelief. He glanced to his father, who was not looking at him.

Nobuyuki walked over to Kiyone and simply hugged her as the teal haired GP slowly crumpled to the floor, sitting on the front step. The architect sat down beside Kiyone, Mihoshi joining him. Both she and Nobuyuki held Kiyone as a look of ashen grief and panic-driven concentration took over the teal haired detective's countenance. It was a look of someone who was fighting against everything being taken away from them, the look also of inevitability. Tenchi knew this look well. He hated it.

Tenchi sighed, looking away. He decided that he should leave the three of them alone and check on the others camped out in the living room and kitchen. Tenchi slowly walked away from the trio. When he arrived in the living room, he just stood for a minute, gazing at the sliding-glass door in front of him and the lake beyond it. A low rumble of thunder could be heard, rattling the glass. A white flash of distant lightning illuminated the lake and pier. The water beginning to ripple and chop in the wind.

"Hey, you okay Tenchi?" Ryoko was sitting on the beam above, calling down to him quietly.

Tenchi snapped out of it. "No." He shook his head and spoke softly, "I'm not okay, not at all, Ryoko."

Ryoko frowned as she phased down to gently set her hands on Tenchi's shoulder. "Don't worry," she smiled confidently. "We'll handle it, you and me together," she winked, her amber eyes twinkling.

Tenchi smiled a bit, "Yeah, we will." He never stopped to think about the implication of his response to Ryoko's "you and me together" line.

From the kitchen, both of them could hear Yosho, Ayeka, and Sasami listening to a message from Queen Misaki, stating that things were under control on Jurai and the Kingdom at large. Ryoko, for her part, had shifted from having her hands on his shoulders to gently resting her entire body on his. Strangely, while Tenchi realized she did this, he did not think to try and squirm away or of the consequences of Ayeka seeing this. He merely accepted her need for his strength and touch at this moment.

By this time, Mihoshi and Nobuyuki had successfully escorted Kiyone up the stairs to lie down for a while.

"Ryoko..." Tenchi said after a moment, "we should work out who will take watch shifts."

"Hmmhmm," she nodded, taking a step back from him just in time to see Ayeka walk out into the living room. The elder princess frowned briefly. She had not seen anything incriminating, but she sensed that something had passed between Tenchi and Ryoko. Mentally, she filed it away into the back of her mind for later. Now was not the time for such considerations.

"Ms. Ayeka," Tenchi said, "we need to work out watch shifts. I think it would be a good idea if at least two of us are awake at the same time to keep an eye on developments." He motioned to the TV where two American reporters were shouting at each other violently, "... if any, and to keep an eye on things." He guessed Ayeka's unspoken response, "Yes, I have faith in Azaka and Kamidake, but I don't think we should rely solely on them."

"What about Washu?" Ryoko asked.

Tenchi looked up at the ceiling for a moment, "Washu is devoting all of her energies to finding out what is happening."

Ryoko nodded, thinking for a moment. "I'll take watch for tonight."

"I will take tomorrow," Ayeka stated.

"And, I'll have the night after that," Tenchi said, "but who will take days?"

"Simple." Ryoko crossed her arms behind her head, "we alternate with whoever did nights the day before."

Tenchi shrugged. It seemed as good a plan as any. "I've already talked to Grandpa, and he says he'll stay up nights and sleep in the day."

Meanwhile, in the kitchen, Sasami was silently and half-heartedly preparing a late midnight snack for whoever wanted it. Ryo-ohki was not on her usual perch on top of Sasami's head. The cabbit was upstairs, sleeping her recent bout of nausea off on Sasami's futon.

Yosho and Washu were now for the fortieth time trying to make sense of what they could glean from reports from various places around the world and in the universe around them. Colorful holographic screens lit up like a game board before Washu and Yosho. So far, the clearest picture they could get was a video that was played once and only once on an Orlando, Florida TV station before going off the air. The video was blurred, shot at night during a rainstorm, but it clearly showed injured corpses walking toward the camera with the sort of difficulty you would expect to find in, say, someone trying to walk after breaking a leg. Various GHK wire-service text reports were also on some of the screens. Disorder and deceit was in the Galaxy Police and the rest of the Galactic Union dealing with it or not dealing with it as they saw fit.

"Yosho..." Washu ventured, "does King Azusa intend to intervene if civil authorities are unable to contain this threat, which seems pretty credible from where I'm sitting?"

Yosho glanced again at one of Washu's six different holographic screens floating at various points around the kitchen, this one replaying a message from his aunt, Misaki. "I believe my father will, Little Washu. How soon and to what extent, I do not know. However, it is very clear Jurai has its own problems to take care of right now."

The message from Queen Misaki also included a holographic record of a planet called Alonia. It seemed that a few cities and even a smaller continent's communications were dead for the moment. There was also some garbled footage of shuffling humanoid figures, just like those pictures from the Orlando TV station. Yosho glanced back from Washu to the hologram, and to Sasami; who glanced back at him from the corner of her eye. Yosho absently swatted his hand through the holographic image, dissolving it. Sasami went back to making the cheese club sandwiches.

"So..." Washu sighed, catching Yosho's attention again. "With Jurai occupied and the GP currently forming a circular firing squad, we're effectively on our own for now. Is that what you are saying?"

Yosho adjusted his glasses, "Yes" He would say no more on the matter, except: "But, we will have help." He smiled a little enigmatic smile familiar to his lips.

Washu sighed again, in no mood for the elder Prince's games, but no time to spare either. She went back to furiously testing and tapping away again; at what little precious data she had on this new...horror.

'Yes,' she mentally agreed. 'It is a horror.'

Little did she know how soon she would be proven right.

000

Ezekiel Hayes was pleased with the extent to which the Galactic Union was having all its weak links blown like cheap firecrackers. By his and Tokimi's predictions, the Galactic Union and Galaxy Police should be on life-support within a week; dead in two. Jurai, however.. according to their plan, will be a much tougher nut to crack. Jurai had responded well to the initial threat, but even a coordinated effort hitting all the right notes and methods cannot hold out for long against the "biological weapon," some would later term it. No matter, Ezekiel was now making plans to visit many different worlds in the near future, including Earth and Jurai. The casting call was going out, and all those who swore allegiance to Lady Tokimi would be lining up all around the figurative block, so to speak.

Ezekiel sneered as he watched floating above some outer-rim Galactic Union world, a world following the standard pattern of the rural areas producing more zombies and then a slow shift to the cities. The cities would then become tiny specks and blotches of red... literally zombie breeding factories with numbers of people trapped in a relatively small area. 'They're learning true fear right at this instant,' he thought. 'They will learn who truly controls their destinies, and whom they should ask forgiveness from,' he smiled down past his boots at the populated southern continent; with a population demographic of 51 zombie.

"A little of that Old-Tyme Religion ain't gonna do much good for you now..." he hissed, and then laughed, the cosmic joke in action. He was about to go down and witness the "persuasion," as he and the Lady called it, first hand when he felt Tokimi initiate contact with him.

Gone was the planet below him and the stars around him, replaced with a void of pitch-blackness. Ezekiel waited, knowing his Lady would be with him soon.

"Ezekiel..." a voice like a cold blast lapped itself around Ezekiel's body in this realm.

He turned around and found himself standing on a perfect grey marble platform. Around him various columns rose, and on either side of him were two canals of water flowing off behind him into two identical waterfalls. Ahead of Ezekiel was his destination. The temple of his Lady Goddess. He fished out a half-empty pack of Marlboros regulars, tapping the back of the pack until he held a fresh cigarette in his fingers. He lit the cigarette, taking a long drag, and exhaled the smoke into the air above him. The stars of Tokimi's universe twinkled in perfect harmony, complimenting the Dark Lady's temple. Ezekiel's eyes returned to the way ahead. The water pointed the way, as did the odd piece of vegetation or a seemingly random mathematically perfect square moving in the starry night above. Roots and other things meant to only be in an atmosphere coexisted equally as well as dead rocks all because Tokimi wished it so. This was the Lady's realm, a perfect mismatch hodgepodge of everything to catch Tokimi's fancy. Along with some original ideas and concepts, the majority of things Ezekiel strode past on his way to his Lady's chambers were pilfered, copied, or otherwise cribbed from the selected "worthy" elements of Tsunami's universe.

The architecture reminded Ezekiel vaguely of Greco-Roman styles, but that really meant about as much as a warm pitcher of spit to someone who had been born and raised in Brooklyn, New York. Ezekiel was more interested in the various murals, paintings, and bricks on the road ahead, all with stories to tell attesting to his wife's greatness.

There was the praying mantis, an insect that caused Ezekiel some pause before he dismissed it as you would dismiss a mother animal allowing the runt of her litter to be killed rather than allow weakness to survive into the next generation. Tokimi kept a rather large colony here in her universe sealed in a private ecosystem of their own. Ezekiel strode past the quarter kilometre transparent barrier separating the main walkway from the habitat. Ezekiel estimated offhand he had witnessed over a million or so mantis females disposing of their mates.

After that, Ezekiel passed over several bricks expressing several principles of Justice that Tokimi had formulated for her sister... that whore's universes. The perfection of these ideals still astounded Ezekiel, and every time he went to Tsunami's universe, he always saw how the principal of Justice allowed everything to exist there. How dare Tsunami steal his wife's greatest triumph from her by sealing her here! Ezekiel clenched his fists and ground his teeth together for a moment. The bricks symbolized the internal mechanics, underlying things such as science and mathematics which allowed one who had done wrong in some way to get what was coming to them. The Buddhists of Earth called it karma. Ezekiel smiled as he walked over the various bricks making up the long road murals. There was the slowly plotted, meticulously plotted revenge of a life-long rival against his better; a husband dispatching his wife and her lover when they attempted to murder him and take his money and children; and, Ezekiel's personal favourite, a man brutally getting even with all that had abandoned him after he was paralysed. It was quite a feat for someone confined to a wheelchair, but where there was a will, there was a way.

And then, there were nightmares, greed, and jealousy as well as all the other dark emotions. Some were there to begin with, but Tokimi perfected them. This allowed a king to become an emperor, or even a warlord; a spouse to commit adultery; or a spurned potential lover to plot revenge rather than truly find the one he is destined for. Another popular one that made both Ezekiel and Tokimi smile was the killing of a rapist who was let go because of legal technicalities.

He smiled, a kid in a candy store of dark delights and gritty, seething hatred and vengeance. Ezekiel was almost at Tokimi's temple, and now he arrived at the section reserved for more serious evils. These were direct infractions against Tsunami; events that caused all hell to break lose in universal history. In the small chambers off to the side, this was where Tokimi kept her own prisoners, and where her torturers and executioners did their work. Bills of the particulars of the guilty hung on a long wall outside, a memorial of guilt and transgressions punished by the will of Lady Tokimi. Off to the side of the priesthood's temple was another construction; a huge stone building so dark that it seemed to even absorb all light even in the cold marble grey of Tokimi's domain. This was where the damned in Tsunami's universe dwelt, the ones who weren't even allowed to roam freely here in any capacity, the worst of the worst. They were destructive to everyone they came into contact with in life and death; even themselves.

Ezekiel stopped for a moment to admire a constant life-size and totally real recreation of the assassination of Archduke Francis Ferdinand and his wife by a Serbian nationalist. He and the Lady always admired this magnificent act for its almost single-handed role in plunging nearly the entire planet Earth into bloody world war. He smiled at the forever death-surprise of the archduke as the assassin's bullet pierced into him, and then he was off again.

At the foot of Tokimi's temple was a smaller but still grand facility for the priestesses and priests of the Dark Lady. Even though Ezekiel rarely saw anyone on his walks, he always saw a few people here tending to the grounds, statues, and murals. He nodded to several young women and men shrouded in black as they efficiently went about their tasks for that day. They returned his gesture with bows before continuing.

He briefly inspected the murals of the ancient wars that established the Jurai Kingdom; and Tokimi's successful role in making it a bloody forging along with her patient, ongoing insurgent campaign against Tsunami's slaves. That campaign seemed to finally be coming to a head. There were sinfully lustful depictions of the noble Knights and followers of Tsunami falling prey to the seductions of Tokimi's priestesses and priests. Ezekiel chuckled always as he saw the murals of the sanctimonious Knights realizing their sin, and also their lust, even love for their dark bride or groom, or both, and abandoning Tsunami. Slowly, deep and patient corruption would do its work with them.

"You dance with the Devil," Ezekiel said to the mural of a former Knight of Tsunami gazing with eyes of hatred at the first Queen of Jurai, Hinase. Beside him, his dark clad wife with a swelling belly stood proud of her deeds. "The Devil changes you," he laughed.

Finally, Ezekiel arrived at his Lady's temple; his footfalls thudding confidently. A whistle was on his breath, some old ditty he half-remembered from some dingy pool hall somewhere along the line. No guards, sentries or sycophants challenged or even appeared before him as he smiled in anticipation of his Lady and made his way towards the immense double doors of the audience chamber, save one.

"You are tardy, my Lord Ezekiel," D-3's eyes, long white hair, bald head, and glittering jewel appeared looming over him.

Ezekiel merely glanced up, giving a cocksure smirk around the nearly finished cigarette as his fingers slowly removed it from his mouth. Ezekiel exhaled smoke into the air in D-3's direction and flicked the cigarette butt at the massive brooding artifice of the old man. He leered up at D-3.

"Mr. D-3... hey there! How goes supervising our Lady's work?" Ezekiel instinctively let the set of his shoulders back a bit, and his feet to space wider apart. This added another level of arrogance to his stance and also was a good semi-defensive posture as well.

The eyes of the old man gleamed a bit. "You wasted time by not phasing in here directly."

Ezekiel gave no response.

"I cannot fathom why you insist on walking," D-3 pondered in a tone of voice that betrayed some smugness. "For beings endowed with great powers such as we--"

A twitch in Ezekiel's left eye marked his annoyance.

"--walking to an audience with the Lady is usually not even practiced by even her lowliest servants, who no doubt do not wish to incur the Lady's or my wrath by being late," Ezekiel could just hear the smile curling D-3's nonexistent mouth.

The champion of the Lady in question raised his eyes to fully glare up at D-3. "First, never presume we are anything alike, old man."

Ezekiel sensed a rebuttal coming but impressed his will on D-3 to be silent; much to the demigod's surprise, although he did not show it. D-3 accepted the criticism gracefully enough.

"And second," Ezekiel eyes glanced back down to the grand double doors ahead of him. "You will report, D-3, as to the progress of the Lady's and my plans."

A glint in D-3's eyes betrayed the slight furrow of his vast white valley of a brow. "It is well in hand, as you have seen to yourself--"

"--against your recommendation to stay here, all snug and cozy," Ezekiel jeered.

The jewel in D-3's forehead glittered as well. "As you now seem to be returning to enjoy."

Ezekiel exaggerated a shrug. "In my place, would you do any different?"

Now, D-3's brow and voice betrayed more than their usual chilliness. "... May I ask exactly what My Lord Ezekiel is implying?"

"I'm going to make sweet love to my wife, D-3," Ezekiel smiled in cruel sincerity. "And, you are going to watch the door for us, as usual."

D-3's scowl dug deeper across his ethereal features. The jewel glittered again. "As is my duty to serve and protect our Lady--"

"Nononono, my good D-3, my Lady," Ezekiel corrected sharply. He began to walk forward again, almost totally ignoring D-3's now simmering brooding.

"I did not mean to imply any sort of improper relationship or role for myself with my... the Lady Tokimi," D-3 said quietly. Ezekiel imagined if D-3 was not a demigod the tone would have been simpering.

Ezekiel continued walking towards the huge double doors of Tokimi's grand audience chamber. "You may not have, D-3, but never forget your heart and desires are open to me too; despite your advanced age and experience." At the last, Ezekiel could not help it but turn around again and add, "and you'll always be my Lady's doorman." He winked and willed the doors open himself. He was about to stroll across the threshold, a spring to his step and a whistle on his breath, when something happened he had not quite anticipated.

"Is that so...?" D-3 pondered out loud directly above Ezekiel's head.

Ezekiel had no intention of listening to D-3 any longer, but suddenly found himself unable to move. He stopped whistling, his teeth gritted in seething anger for a moment, but he controlled himself. "Release me, D-3," Ezekiel kept his voice level.

"You," the demigod steadily raised his voice to seem to Ezekiel like the entire universe around him boomed with it. "A man who was without a face, without limbs... with a forgotten name," D-3 now shouted down at him, "A man, I recall, that only needed burying or burning to be ended from the mortal world..."

Ezekiel opted not to break D-3's hold over him for the moment. 'Let the old man blow off some steam. Then, he'll get back to his duties.' However, a cold knot of memory recalled for Ezekiel a period of long awake darkness that still loomed for him... back there. He was not afraid of it; he had triumphed with the Lady's help. It had only made him stronger. He drank the black poison, and it made him stronger. Trial by fire, isn't that what the sophisticates called it?

D-3 continued his tirade, "...a mere mortal, a Terran man, being allowed to lay with the Lady of the Dark!"

"...get over it," Ezekiel managed to snort.

"Did you, Ezekiel? Do not forget your long death," D-3 glared, and for a moment, Ezekiel remembered it was just like D-3 said it was, death without the benefits, you could say.

Ezekiel was momentarily surprised when D-3 pushed him back away from the doorway and suspended him about fifty meters up in the air; halfway from the demigod's ethereal face. In fact, Ezekiel allowed himself a slightly rueful smirk with a mental reminder to be more mindful of D-3 later on.

"Insolent trash," D-3 stated to Ezekiel's face, low and cold.

Ezekiel's face merely broke out into a broad grin; he said nothing.

"ENOUGH!" a voice boomed in both Ezekiel and D-3's minds.

D-3 held Ezekiel in place for a moment longer before returning him back to the doorway, pointedly by phasing.

"Perhaps you will learn to appreciate the gift of teleportation, Lord Ezekiel," D-3's voice almost seemed to be said through a smirk as well.

"Go fuck yourself, you old coot," Ezekiel proudly threw over his shoulder as he crossed the threshold. "The Dark Lady sure as shit isn't going to." The doors closed behind him.

Above this, D-3's eyes narrowed, and he slowly faded out of view. If anyone had been there, the jewel in his forehead was now glowing brightly. The demi-god's eyes also betrayed a brief flash of another, more pained emotion, but then it was gone along with the artifice; leaving the entranceway of the temple empty again.

000

Tokimi's audience chamber was huge: columns spiralling up into pitch darkness before they appeared again and supports becoming flying buttresses holding up the ceiling. Ezekiel did not stop to admire the chambers. There were more important and more beautiful things to see. He strode out onto the audience span, ending in a circle where her servants would report to the Dark Lady. Ezekiel stopped in the middle, his boot-clad feet clicking to a stop. He knelt and closed his eyes. The lips that normally seemed very apt to upturn into a gleefully smug smirk now flattened into a solemn prayer.

Ezekiel had not long to wait. When he next opened his eyes, he was in another chamber, just as vast and vaulting but with a solid floor and a bed in the middle. Ezekiel felt two cold hands slink onto his shoulder, and a different smile came to his lips then, a smile of almost relief, and deep affection.

"D-3 has always been like this," the voice said above him. "But, he will not ever betray us."

"Underneath his professional demeanour and reserve, as well as all of his power, is still an unrequited puppy love for you, my Lady," Ezekiel declared to the floor.

"I know," the voice nodded. "I suspect that given another few millennia, he will find someone else." Ezekiel heard a smile, "He will have to; I have already made my choice."

Ezekiel actually still did blush when complimented like this.

"Rise and report, my champion," the cold voice breezed about him still, causing his eyes to shine and his smile to broaden.

"My Lady," Ezekiel responded, doing as she bade.

Before him, the corporeal form of the Dark Goddess, the Lady Tokimi, stood. Her caramel brown hair flew smoothly behind her beautifully painted face. Her golden medallion was at the apex of her head with two lighter bands of brown hair spreading impossibly, but proudly, from the medallion's center. Her favorite color, green like a summer's ivy, colored her skin from just below her violet eyes, encasing her neck and extending onward below her dress. Ezekiel remembered the first time he beheld this dress; it was the most beautiful thing he had ever dreamed possible next to Tokimi herself. The dress itself was like a fine rustling of warm and harsh colors of the autumn and the night: Billowing white bands of gossamer cloth sprouted from the red jewel that seemingly secured the dress to Tokimi's upper chest and neck. Below, that fabric of a dark, dried blood red contrasted with bright yellows, lighter reds, and a belt of yellow suspended in air around her perfect hourglass waist. Impossible inner cloaks of grey and black started underneath the gold breastplates and spread downward to her feet and on off behind her, floating serenely like waiting talons. Her hands were taloned; sharp and pointed, encased in the most royal purple shade, and were reaching out for him. Lastly, Ezekiel's favorite, a large suspended necklace was connected to the jewel just above her well-sculpted breasts.

"The progress continues, my Lady," Ezekiel smiled. "That rock I was floating above is about to blink out entirely... The Galactic Union's soon to be a burning house," he chuckled softly, "and even Jurai itself cannot shake off the effects of the persuasion for much longer."

Her piercing eyes bored into his. "Very good. Thank you my champion." Her lips curled into a smile that would have caused the mightiest of Jurai's Kings and Queens to quiver in their boots and pray to Tsunami for deliverance from the frigid, calm, and above all patient glee evident in Tokimi's smile, though their prayers to Tsunami would have angered the Dark Lady all the more.

"I have watched you, my champion, and I am pleased with your work." She folded her arms neatly across her abdomen, her cloaks seeming to simultaneously accentuate and hide the curves of the body she had fashioned to interact in Tsunami's universe: her perfect hourglass figure; her ramrod straight posture; her large, productive breasts; and pronounced hips. Ezekiel and Tokimi had worked on this body for a long while, carefully touching and interacting with each other.

"I am honored by your compliments, my love," Ezekiel said sincerely, waiting for Tokimi to speak again.

"You know why I have summoned you here," the Dark Lady stated.

"Yes," Ezekiel stepped forward, knowing the answer. Tokimi smiled again, watching as Ezekiel advanced towards her with a playful grin on his face. His dress was his usual leather jacket, black pants, black shirt and work boots.

Tokimi smiled down at the man approaching her. "I could feel you longing for my touch after your last chore, my champion." Tokimi lightly licked her lips, enjoying the sensations her body was providing her with. The Dark Lady thought back on their first encounters after she chose him, how she had looked into his mind and tried to create the sensations and feelings he craved for.

At times like this, Tokimi left her mind unguarded to his mental probing so Ezekiel knew exactly what she was recalling: how the Dark Lady's champion, having just accepted the mantle of husband, lay back on a type of bed she had summoned up for their consummation; how he had closed his eyes and fantasized at the dream images of her he knew; how rigid his erection had been when the spectral hands of his dark Goddess began to caress him, learning how an aroused male feels; and how fascinated Tokimi had felt as she heard Ezekiel's moans, his panting breath, and the first appearance of slick pre-seminal fluid on the crown of his shaft. Both Tokimi and Ezekiel shared the recollection of the formers' first approximation of an orgasm, and the latters' first time with his Lady... no, more than "Lady", wife.

Ezekiel remembered feeling like at the time that he'd just came into cold, thin air suspended above him, like masturbating or having a wet dream only no mess to clean up. As successive experiences occurred between them over the years, Tokimi's humanoid form was getting more and more accurate. Now, as Ezekiel reached up and roughly grabbed both of her breasts, it seemed that the Dark Lady was getting more and more details right. Well, perhaps this time would be during the right time, then...

"You wish me to make you big with child, my Dark One?" Ezekiel asked, gently laying his hand over her clothed abdomen.

Tokimi nodded, "I command it."

Ezekiel smiled. "Then, you shall have it after our usual pleasures," he sighed as Tokimi's hand gently lay down on the front of his jeans. "Ah..." he said breathlessly.

"You did an exceptional job, Ezekiel..." Tokimi murmured, lowering her head to kiss him fiercely on the lips.

"Thank you..." Ezekiel's replied after returning the kiss. His hands kneaded and squeezed Tokimi's breasts through her cloaks like bread dough, his fingers finding their way up to the jewel right below her neck. She allowed his touch to unclasp the jewel; it phased away silently along with her necklace. The outer covers of her finery fell away along with the belt, phasing away as well. She now stood in a black and grey gown that clung invitingly to her breasts and hips; promising a place for him. Tokimi moaned as she felt Ezekiel's hand move along the inner cloak, finding a seam and slipping his hand in. Ezekiel felt her skin beneath the cloak; fingers questing, finding, and squeezing a nipple. Ezekiel smiled, cupping the magnificent mound of flesh firmly, the pleasure he could feel in Tokimi's mind causing his budding erection to strain against the confines of his jeans.

"Oh!" Tokimi gasped as Ezekiel fondled her, his fingers rolling the nipple between his thumb and forefinger tightly. Ezekiel leaned up to kiss her again on the lips; she reciprocated lovingly. Ezekiel looked into Tokimi's eyes after their kiss was finished, his hand still doing its firm work underneath her cloaks. "My love..." he whispered, kissing again. She closed her eyes. The Dark Goddess continued to stroke Ezekiel through his jeans; his constrained erection now pressed deliciously against the fabric, a small wet spot appearing on the crotch of the pants. Ezekiel moved his other hand to sneak under the cloak, caressing and fondling Tokimi's other breast; his fingers finding firm and easy purchase now on both nipples. He grinned, twisting them, applying more pressure just how she always liked it before cupping them both in his hands.

"Ezekiel!" Tokimi's eyes opened as she felt waves of pleasure coursing through her being. He smiled, his hands parting the folds of the cloak... It phased away. Tokimi stood naked before him now, his hands caressing her milky white high-pointed breasts, her perfectly sculpted female form with her caramel hair now flowing all about her down to her waist. The green extended downward from where her cloaks and clothing usually hid it. The green ivy pattern wrapped over the breasts that were flattened against Ezekiel's chest as he embraced Tokimi close to him again. The pattern continued, extended down her flat abdomen down to her hips and ending at her toes, which were totally green.

Tokimi smiled at Ezekiel's appreciative look over of her. Already, Tokimi could feel the fluids at work within her mound. Her vaginal muscles were tightening, the lubricating fluids of reproduction making her passage ready for her husband. The lips of her opening glistening, the hair there becoming moist to the touch. Ezekiel stood there, still dressed, but the crotch of his jeans was bunched up almost comically before her; his nearly painful erection tenting them.

"My champion... it is time," Tokimi commanded, a soft smile playing at her lips as she looked him over as well.

They moved in time with their kisses and caresses as they moved over to the bed. He was about to guide her down onto the covers, but Tokimi bade him to allow her to stand. Ezekiel smiled, feeling her tug at his arm until he sat down on the bed in front of her; directly in front of her breasts. She hugged him to her bosom then, Ezekiel kissing her breasts, his lips finding her nipples and loving both as he listened to her moans and sighs, speaking of her pleasure to him. Tokimi's hands ran up and down his back smoothly, tugging his shirt out of the jeans. Her hands found the flesh underneath, caressing the small of his back.

Ezekiel continued his sensuous and loving caring for her breasts, increasing the pressure his mouth applied to the precious and plentiful mounds. He caressed Tokimi's firm buttocks, squeezing the two cheeks in his palms. They were generating an almost fearful amount of passion here. In fact, it was fearful, a curious grunting, moaning, and slurping sound providing a soundtrack for this immaculate bed chamber with its impossibly fine silk black sheets. They pawed at each other, both trying to satiate the deepest hunger within them.

Tokimi stepped back from Ezekiel; he gazed up into her eyes for a moment. She smiled, actually smiled. Her hands began working up and down inside his jacket. The well-worn leather jacket was quickly removed and tossed aside, landing some distance away unheard by the two dark lovers.

The Dark Goddess unbuttoned his shirt, the article of clothing joining its cold weather brother on the floor as well. Next, Ezekiel's undershirt came off, and Tokimi was running her elegant and sharp taloned fingers and nails across his chest. Eyes closed, Ezekiel gritted at the exquisite torture at the tips of his Lady's fingers. Now, a hand ran down his stomach, trailing over his navel, the sparse hair above his waist, to unsnap the buttons of the fly of his jeans. Ezekiel wore no underwear underneath, as did not his Lady, the purpose of undergarments for such beings meaningless.

He raised his legs to allow her to swiftly divest him of his jeans, and they hit the floor with a slight jangle. Ezekiel grinned, his hand going out to take Tokimi's; she squeezed it. Ezekiel motioned for her to sit down on the bed with him. With a shadow of a smile, she did so, snaking up on the bed past him. Tokimi, eyes on him, slowly reclined on the bed before him, her legs spreading. She opened herself for him, allowing him to do as he would with her, but he had better do it well, those patient eyes said to him.

"And, I shall," Ezekiel said to himself and his wife; promise and declaration. He slid up on the bed next to her... a hand or two lightly slipping up her feet, her legs and her thighs. His hands fluttering against her stomach, giving each breast and nipple a firm squeeze again. Now drawn up against her, Ezekiel embraced her, his lips latching securely onto hers. Their tongues mingled and played. Tokimi moaned, her hand trailing again up and down the hair on Ezekiel's stomach. Her taloned nails scraped lusciously, causing Ezekiel to smile and moan as his hands reached up to run through his Lady's hair. Ezekiel sighed, his lips against her ear as she gripped his engorged and slippery shaft in her hand. She ran her thumb over the crown and the moisture there, pressing against the glans and nearly causing Ezekiel to orgasm right there. He held on, his ever-increasing moans causing Tokimi to smile more, and to only hold his firm erection for the moment.

Ezekiel breathed in, the air around them no longer sterile and cool, but warm and filled with the musky odors of their sweat and slickness. They breathed it in, the scents sending them higher, lubricating their lust, and stoking the flames more and more. As he drank of her lips again. one of his hands left her hair and meandered back down, past her chest, her navel, and lovingly tracing the outline of the sparse caramel brown pubic hair that covered her vaginal lips, framing them exactly to her husband's delight. Ezekiel was right next to Tokimi, kissing her neck and nuzzling her roughly, his fingers spread over her crotch, pressing and cupping the area.

"Ooooooh..." Tokimi uttered, her eyes closed.

"I love you," he whispered in her ear after kissing it.

"Champion... lover... husband...!" she groaned loudly in pleasure as his index finger started to concentrate on her clitoris, stroking slowly. "Love you..." she whispered breathlessly.

Ezekiel smiled and buried his face in her hair, worshipping it as the finery it was. His fingers continued to pleasure his wife. One finger became two as he shifted to a slightly faster rubbing motion over the area, firmly assaulting the nub of pleasure and the area just above it with care. Ezekiel felt her get hotter and wetter, a slightly sticky sound joined the chorus of other sounds as his fingers spread the wetness over the sensitive nub. He continued his finger motions, getting faster. Her moans grew louder. He was about to speed up when...

... Her hand had come up, and her fingers wrapped around his arm firmly. Ezekiel stopped at the look she gave him. He smiled and nodded, his fingers releasing her now reddened and throbbing wet clitoris. His fingers now migrated down to her opening, the tip of his finger pressing and fluttering between those lips. Ezekiel's index finger slid right in.

"Ah!" Tokimi sighed, feeling her inner walls being stretched just the way she liked. More lubricant dripped out onto Ezekiel's fingers.

"My Lady..." he smiled. He began to thrust the finger in and out while rubbing the insides of her nether lips. Tokimi's hands continued to rub and knead the flesh of Ezekiel's arms as she moaned ever louder. He added another finger, increasing the pace of his thrusting. The musky smell of her now filled his nostrils completely and her slight, as almost musical moans wafted into his ears. Ezekiel gritted his teeth in concentration; both to calm his own raging desire and to further stoke his Lady's. Joining the potent aroma of arousal was a steady and slow wet slushing sound as Ezekiel's fingers, now three of them, widened Tokimi's opening. Grinning at the expression of lust and love on her face, he arched a thumb to gently stroke her clitoris again.

"Ezekiel!" she nearly screamed, her eyes snapping open, stopping him. It was time. With a hot, wet, and deep kiss to Tokimi, Ezekiel sat up on his haunches, sliding down in between her legs. She spread them even wider, it seemed to him with glee.

"Please husband..." she melodically pleaded to him.

Ezekiel nodded, his engorged shaft reaching a point of rigidity that he had to make a conscious effort not to touch it... He would take no chances of not finishing within the Dark One. He hoped he would last long enough to give her the pleasure due to her... With the dull ache beginning to manifest itself in his drawn-out testacles and the amount of drops of pearly moisture coating his shaft and crown, his eyes once more took in the splendor of his Lady.

Once more, her eyes beckoned him. He crawled over on top of her.

Ezekiel glanced down and made sure his up cocked penis was in the right alignment to properly take his Lady. He was. "I wish to make you pregnant, my saviour," he said as he kissed her savagely, letting his saliva go where it would. Tokimi secured her arms around his buttocks, drawing him in. The crown of his rod brushed her slick entrance slightly, causing both of them to gasp. Ezekiel pushed forward, his engorged crown parting her wet vaginal lips smoothly and quickly. Tokimi gasped arching her back, letting her arms travel up his back. She said no words; merely letting her nails sink into the flesh of his back.

Ezekiel was quick thrusting his entire length into her slippery coldness; he drew back slowly, nearly leaving the confines of her vagina. The Dark Lady would have protested rather forcefully if he had disengaged from her completely, but Ezekiel didn't. He rammed right back into Tokimi as hard as he could causing her to scream his name loudly against his shoulder. She thrashed at him in the sea of sensations and emotions she found herself slowly becoming part of. Ezekiel gritted his teeth, receiving the same feelings from Tokimi, along with her nails drawing blood from his back. Ezekiel settled into a steady rhythm of fast never ending complete strokes into her frigid splendor, feeling her ample but cold honey soaking his rod completely.

Tokimi ground her hips into his pelvis in concert with his movements for a little bit, but soon Ezekiel found that his Lady had taken control. He was merely doing his best to keep up with the rate at which she wanted him thrusting into her. If anyone had been able to see their lovemaking, it would have either resembled a rape or a violent attack with the only question being exactly who was the victim and who was the perpetrator. Maybe both were. It was not long before in midst of the dozens of sensations Ezekiel felt his insides tense, approaching orgasm.

He steeled himself and increased the rhythm into Tokimi even more, slamming his crotch into hers and sending his manhood into her deeper and deeper. His pubic hair meeting and tangling with hers. Ezekiel's hands enfolded Tokimi, pressing her closer to him, his lips kissing her face and lips repeatedly. She responded by her arms pressing him as close as possible, her hands now squeezing his behind firmly and drawing his pistoning energy further into her well.

"Ohhhhh...!" she clung to him with all parts of her, the Goddess herself feeling her own pleasure approach. "Ezekiel! My dear champion!" She hooked her legs around his buttocks and held him even closer, hands roaming his somewhat bloody back again. Their sweat and fluids mixed as one, scents of their love working around them, through the dark bed sheets, and to the floor. Ecstatic grunts, slurps, and a steady, rhythmically increasing sound like two sticky surfaces being peeled back over and over dominated all.

Ezekiel groaned low in the back of his throat, marshalling the last of his defences for a few final thrusts, hard and fast ones. Tokimi instinctively spread her legs just a bit wider; ready to receive his offering. Her entire being was wrapped up in the dance undertaken here; her slickened center bared for her husband's taking... his fertilization of her. Suddenly, Tokimi felt her lips dry. She wetted them as she concentrated on the feelings within her dear champion.

"So...close...!" he husked.

"... Yes," was all Tokimi had the presence of mind to utter as she gave herself completely over to what came next.

Ezekiel groaned loudly, "... my love... my wife... my Goddess...!" he shouted all at once.

He continuing to thrust as a deep orgasm shuddered through him from the bottom of his testacles up to his stomach. His shaft pistoned in and out of Tokimi's soaked opening, pulsing out fresh milky strands of seed to impact deep inside the Dark Goddess. Ezekiel felt as if a hot and delicious wire that had been kindled for a long time within his stomach and was finally being dragged out slowly through his urethra; agonizing and pleasing all at once. Tokimi's eyes were closed, the sensations only increasing in her since she had not quite crested yet. She held Ezekiel close as his thrusts slowed, the streams of semen becoming a mere slow trickle. Tokimi savored this feeling within her vaginal walls. The champion had done his job and proven his dark love for her. For the moment, her orgasm could wait.

At last his thrusts subsided, and he collapsed against her breathing deeply, laying a few sweaty kisses on her neck. She smiled, honestly happy at his satisfaction with her, patting his back where she had inflicted those scratches.

After a few moments of rest, Ezekiel was now sitting up again, his face set in pleased concentration. His hand was once again petting the Lady's most private and beautiful place, now sanctified by his and her fluids. Ezekiel's fingers were rubbing intently at the top of Tokimi's labia; her now engorged and excessively sensitive clitoris nearly sore from the increasing waves of pleasure. The waves grew ever higher in time with Ezekiel's hand motions and his occasional kiss or caress, and finally crested.

"EZEKIEL!" she screamed, her hands digging into the sheets of the bed. Her legs writhed, and the toes on her feet worked in odd patterns as she squirmed and moaned deeply. Her center slushed a bit louder, and more wetness coated Ezekiel's fingers now, the digits still rubbing diligently. A circular rubbing motion became a hard stroke with the fingers pressing the sensitive area firmly; Ezekiel's palm flexing and caressing her caramel pubic hair lovingly. The Dark Lady rode her orgasm, shuddering while sweat broke out on her forehead. Her lips parted, the woman gasping at the intensity. It was almost painful for her. The feeling radiated from her clitoris, through her entire crotch... outward... all the way to her fingertips.

"Oh... oh... oh!" Tokimi whimpered, rocking her hips back and forth, wide for Ezekiel's hand. He continued to rub and stroke that heated center for a few moments but slowed down as his wife's cries and moans grew softer.

After a moment, Tokimi slowly arrived back down from her orgasm. Ezekiel smiled, proud of his ability to please the most magnificent being in all of the universes. And here... she had chosen him as her champion, her husband... the father of her future children! Ezekiel's hand left that wonderful area, and he felt a languid tug at his arm by Tokimi. He laid down beside her, pointedly licking his slick hands clean of her juices. She smiled tiredly, telling that he enjoyed both the taste and the thought of him partaking of her fluids in this manner.

They lay in bed, their bodies intertwined. While Tokimi did not require sleep and Ezekiel very little, they both enjoyed dozing in each other's arms after their lovemaking. After some time, Tokimi kissed Ezekiel's brow. "Something is on my love's mind."

Ezekiel smirked, climbing up to lay on top of her. He barely covered her body. Tokimi smiled down at him, his head resting just below her neck as her hand gently ran up and down the back of Ezekiel's thigh. Ezekiel's penis was still semi-hard resting across Tokimi's vulva while he idly let his hand smooth along Tokimi's rear up her ribcage, counting the accuracy of the bones. Not a detail had been missed. "A persistence... a form of some sort," he frowned, trying to describe some of his visions of late, "like the sky of black we are filling that whore's universe with has a wisp of cloud in it."

"What type of cloud?" Tokimi eyes coolly watched her champion.

Ezekiel seemed about to say something, but he couldn't quite put it into words. Tokimi could see this and gently probed his mind to see what he was getting at. "I saw him too."

He nodded silently, his eyes widening slightly. "I don't have the words to explain it... him," Ezekiel adjusted himself a bit letting his arms encircle his Dark Lady more. "He knows, my Dark One. He knows about us, about the whore of light, not much else though... I don't think."

Tokimi confirmed this with a nod. "He does not know about my sister or Tsunami's little 'champion' yet."

Ezekiel smiled with dark amusement. "I know where he is."

Tokimi matched his smile.

"I can make it so he never even meets the whore's followers on the other side of my home world." Ezekiel gently reached up and cupped Tokimi's chin firmly. "It'll be easy," he kissed her gently.

Tokimi mentally expressed her approval of his plans as she responded to his kiss, letting her tongue invade his mouth. They made out for a little while, Ezekiel's arousal starting to surge back from it's temporary sweet rest. Tokimi had already decided on his reward.

"My Lady Tokimi..." Ezekiel said with a change of tone, "another thing comes to mind in regards to the situation with your sisters."

"Dr. Clay?" Tokimi correctly marked the flash of anger she felt in Ezekiel.

"If he had succeeded in his self-appointed mission to bring your sister to you, things would be going a whole lot easier than they are now." Clay had always been someone Ezekiel never felt was truly competent in his service to Tokimi, despite them never having met.

"I know this, my love," Tokimi said simply, telling Ezekiel she was in no mood for a review of past events and actions in relation to how they effected "the plan," as they both sometimes called it.

Ezekiel hugged Tokimi to him, "I only want you to hold complete dominion over all space and time, my Lady."

Tokimi smiled, her eyes glinting either in love, hatred, or annoyance. It was the first option, if only because Ezekiel could feel it. "I have an idea you might like, Ezekiel..." Tokimi lovingly sneered.

Ezekiel gently laid a hand on her thigh, his half-erect penis starting to poke into the flesh there again. He smiled thinly, "What is your idea, Lady?"

The Dark Lady mentally told Ezekiel the basics of the idea. It was simple, really. She had only just thought it up observing Ezekiel's anger at Clay's "sloppiness" as he had once put it.

Ezekiel grinned, stroking her inner thigh now, just enjoying serving his Dark Goddess. "It will be done, my love." He laid a single kiss on her right nipple as his hardening erection lay almost across her vulva. Tokimi closed her eyes, enjoying the returning arousal Ezekiel was sending to her.

"And, as for the walker of my dear sister, Tsunami, I believe she fancied such men knights," Tokimi almost spat the word. "I believe he is worth enough to try and bend to our will."

Ezekiel nodded in affirmation, saying nothing, continuing to cuddle with Tokimi.

"You've seen another interesting specimen crawling about its business in Tsunami's universe, Ezekiel," she almost whispered. She didn't give a chance for him to respond, "You may try to convert her. She has a hollow soul that knows only medals and achievement that needs to be filled." Tokimi gently patted his head.

Ezekiel smiled in love, reached his free hand up to roughly grabs her left breast as he kissed her again.

000

The evening news on the Baltimore, Maryland, NBC affiliate was the first television news outlet in a major US city to suspend regular programming and report on what was now being called by those who believed it, "the zombie epidemic/pandemic." Channel 7, as it was locally known, was the first station broadcasting and the last to shut down in the days to come. It would be hoped that they would have done a good job, but while not completely botching their responsibility to their viewing public, they didn't exactly help them out. The anchors on Channel 7 challenged every expert from the military or CDC who appeared to instruct the public on how to deal with this crisis logically and effectively.

Mostly, this antagonism was represented by 11:00 News Anchor and "meal-ticket" for NBC 7, Herbert W. Staten. Here follows a transcript made between 3:17 PM and 3:24 PM on October 17th:

Staten: "Welcome back to live team coverage of what is being called by some the greatest disaster suffered in this country since the attack on Pearl Harbor, and by others a hoax surpassing Orson Welles' 'War of the World.' radio broadcast. From one side of the state to the other, panic and near-hysteria has seem to have taken to the streets in the form of armed gangs of men and women, some under the command of law enforcement, some not... some even pursued by law enforcement. All are patrolling the area in search of re-animated human corpses, said to be attacking the living and multiplying rapidly."

Michelle Rochester, Staten's co-anchor picks up here

Rochester: "Currently, ten states have declared states of emergency and Governor Morgan is said to be considering following suit in the next thirty minutes. In Washington, the White House has been tight-lipped about this, but... a piece of paper is placed on the news desk "This just in... A press conference with White House Press Secretary George Fitzsimmons will be held at 4:30 PM Eastern."

Staten is also handed a new copy sheet

Staten: "This just in, folks. ... It would appear that Baltimore police chief Byron Rogan has formally asked Mayor Symington to... to put the entire city in lock-down. According to the police department, six city blocks are currently being shut down because of... infestation of the walking dead including twelve public housing projects. Baltimore residents are advised to stay home and stay out of the areas between Deerborn and Lincoln Avenues."

Rochester: "Joining us now, regularly scheduled, from the CDC branch in Detroit is Dr. Millard Ralse."

Dr. Ralse appears: a rotund, bearded man wearing glasses and a black eye-patch to match his black hair and beard.

Staten: "Dr. Ralse, how you doing tonight?"

Dr. Ralse: "Perfectly awful, Herbert. Let's dispense with the chit-chat and get down to it, shall we?"

Staten: "If... if you insist, Dr. Ralse. What do you suggest people do?"

Dr. Ralse: "First of all, if anyone is living in a rural area and can still do so, LEAVE. Leave and get to the most populated area you can possibly get to. Most police and fire departments should be setting up rescue check points within the next hour... if not the next couple hours. Above all else, we must remain calm! If you encounter one of these 'walking dead,' do not fight it. Just run away as fast as you can. There are already enough firearms out there, and I implore the average citizen NOT to participate. One dead zombie will only cause more to show up. Please, please just run away from them."

Staten and Rochester seem totally aghast at this. Staten recovers first.

Staten: "Surely, you must realize that instructions like this from an authority like yourself could be just asking for a state of anarchy in the populous at large. Dr. Ralse, even advising against the carrying of firearms, sir... just running away from them? Is that not an invitation for public hysteria?"

Staten seems to be a bit pale now

Dr. Ralse: "Mr. Staten, given what I've found out in just the past hour, a state of anarchy is preferable to rows of houses in every city in America being a slaughterhouse for these creatures."

000

The Ridgeford Shopping Centre in Wales, Great Britain, was the site of a most horrible outbreak as the entire complex had become a sort of informal shelter or refuge for people in the surrounding area. The gates were locked, and the people inside felt relatively safe from the zombies that were now beginning to fill the British countryside. At around 2:19 PM local time on October 17, a man named Robert Gatwick who was taking shelter along with some 1,412 other people, suffered a heart attack and died in the corner of a sporting goods store he had taken refuge in. His aim was privacy, and that's just what the zombie that arose soon after had.

The people taking shelter inside had locked the gates and barricaded all the main entrances and exits. Fear and unfamiliarity did the rest.

000

In the area around Columbus, Ohio, it is noteworthy to report that the sheriff's office, in conjunction with various localities and the National Guard, succeeded in one of the first containments of zombism in a set area for a period of time longer than twenty-four hours. This was accomplished after the incident that Warren Hudson had heard on his CB the day before. The county sheriff, Bill Matteson, had the benefit of having some one hundred flame-throwers in storage in the county building. Almost immediately, an armed caravan on fire trucks began scouring the area, shooting and burning any zombies or dead bodies they came across. By nightfall, some 958 zombies were disposed of, and proactive measures were started to further control the outbreak. Columbus, Ohio, almost became totally safe.

000

In Utah, what would become the biggest concentration of survivors of the zombie plague of 1995 were beginning to find success in dealing with events. Zombie containment in Utah began as more of a local effort, beginning in Salt Lake City itself. On October 15th, Mayor Jackson Riber ordered all police and fire-fighter forces to be placed under his command as he began general control operations. This, by itself, is not too significant since many other cities were doing the same thing. What is significant is that in Salt Lake City, the people totally cooperated to the best of their ability, all the people. Practically everyone did their part calmly, and throughout the state of Utah, hardly any breakdown of civil order occurred. In all the United States, the area that Bringham Young had settled a hundred years before had the least amount of zombism reported, next to extremely rural areas or the aforementioned Columbus area.

In the world, it only ranked next to Japan and Taiwan.

000

It happened sooner than anyone at the Masaki house had expected. At around 2:34 AM on October 18th, Tenchi was shaken awake by his grandfather. The boy was about to ask, half-asleep what Yosho wanted, but the look on his face right away silenced and answered any questions Tenchi had.

"Get Tenchi-ken and meet me downstairs." With that, Yosho was gone from his room and could be heard in the hall banging on doors.

Tenchi sprang out of bed, already dressed. His hand flew to his nightstand drawer where Tenchi-ken was. Once secure on his belt, Tenchi went out into hall, nearly running into Nobuyuki and Mihoshi.

"Dad!" Tenchi didn't spare a moment after regaining his bearings; he was rapidly descending the stairs. "Stay inside!"

Nobuyuki nodded. Mihoshi stepped forward. "But, Tenchi! It's my duty as a Galaxy Policeperson..." she trailed off, Tenchi no longer being in earshot.

Nobuyuki put a hand on her shoulder, his eyes fearful. "Please, Mihoshi... help me protect Kiyone and Sasami," the door behind them was Nobuyuki's room, where Kiyone was still sleeping off her near-breakdown from earlier. Or, so they thought, for the teal-haired detective opened the door, fully dressed.

"Mihoshi," Kiyone said, her usual professional tone, shoving the blonde's pistol at her. "Duty calls. Stay here and protect Sasami and Ryo-Ohki." She turned to Nobuyuki, "Mr. Masaki... would you please stay behind and assist Detective Mihoshi?"

Nobuyuki nodded. Mihoshi snapped to attention and took the weapon; she moved back towards the door to the room Sasami and Ayeka shared. Kiyone reached the top of the stairs.

"Wait!" Nobuyuki said, his hand on Kiyone's shoulder. The teal-haired detective turned around to look at the middle-aged architect who had been so much of a friend to her and Mihoshi over the past several months. Kiyone stepped forward, still formal as ever despite her dishevelled appearance; her eyes still haunted. Nobuyuki said nothing, knowing there really was nothing he could say or do in this situation.

Kiyone put her hand on his shoulder. "I'll be all right," she smiled a little, a bit of the usual confident gleam in her eye, along with a renewed determination. Nobuyuki looked back to Mihoshi guarding Sasami and Ayeka's door, and the blonde also gave Nobuyuki one of her smiles, the ones that seemed able to banish darkness for a mile around.

Nobuyuki smiled. He couldn't help himself whenever he was around these two women. He released Kiyone's shoulder, and the detective turned back around and went down the stairs.

The widower sniffled back a tear as he began thinking about the latest task set before him, and where he put his baseball bat from high school.

000

The family was assembled in the living room. Washu was frantically typing on her holo-top, several screens popping into existence in the air above the heads of the group, which included Tenchi, Yosho, Kiyone, Ryoko and Ayeka. They were looking up at some of the new screens with rapt attention. Sasami was asleep upstairs with Ryo-ohki.

"There," Washu pointed to a surveillance sensor screen. The scene was down the mountain from the shrine, about a kilometre from the house in the middle of the woods. Three vaguely human shapes were slowly shuffling through the underbrush of the forest.

"All right, we know where they are," Ryoko said in a low voice, everyone having to strain to hear her. She cracked her knuckles, "Let's go get 'em."

Washu raised her hand up in a halting gesture. "Wait, Ryoko."

Ryoko regarded her mother soberly for a moment. A light rain could be heard falling outside, and everyone was noticeably tired under the lights of the living room. "What?" the cyan-haired space pirate asked annoyed.

Washu clacked away for a quarter of a second. "We still have no idea what these things are, really, or how to kill them for that matter. I advise caution," she threw her daughter a stern, but nonetheless concerned look.

Ryoko shrugged, quite frankly not caring. "Fine, we'll be careful. They're just dead people, right?"

No one answered for a moment. "How do we kill dead people?" Kiyone asked, wryly.

Ryoko groaned, started towards the front door. "I'll be out front when all of you decide to get off your asses and join me," she threw over her shoulder before she phased out.

"Hey, Ryoko!" Tenchi ran out after her. Ayeka watched him leave, turned back to Washu, who seemed to be doing everything she could to avoid a melt down. It wasn't pretty with the veins showing on her forehead.

"Little Washu," Ayeka began, "I believe Azaka and Kamidake should stay where they are, generating a type 3 energy shield. I'll join Lord Tenchi and Ms. Ryoko along with Kiyone," she got a confirming look from the GP.

Kiyone looked to Yosho, "Nobuyuki and Mihoshi are upstairs guarding Sasami's room. She's still asleep."

"Good," Yosho glanced at some of Washu's holo-displays, coming to a decision. "I'll guard Funaho-tree."

"Good idea, Yosho," Washu nodded, exhaustion evident in the set of her shoulders and the over-vigorous nod. Yosho left the room with a worried glance at the red-haired child scientist. He stopped in front of Ayeka. "Ayeka, keep an eye on Ryoko and Tenchi." He looked up over to Kiyone, "Same goes for you as well."

The teal-haired detective nodded. Yosho frowned, taking one last look around the living room. He sighed, "No use waiting here. The battle's outside."

000

J. Frank Parnell of Port Townsend, Washington, made a pretty good shelter, he thought. He lived in the woods one mile from the road, and all around his three-story brick and mortar house, he had one hundred yards in a downward slope to the forest. Simply, he felt, with all the provisions he had and the genuinely impressive military surplus weapons cache he had in his basement, he was simply going to ride out The Great Panic of 1995. All he had to do was sit on the roof with the flamethrower and incinerate anything that came in range of his house. The plan worked fine until several scorched zombies were able to inadvertently set fire to his house. Parnell spent the last hour of his life trying in vain to save his house before he died of smoke inhalation.

000

Georges Delacroix of Vichy, France, saw his fortunes rise and then fall in the space of less than one day. Georges worked on a vineyard. Georges was a drunk. Georges was passed out in the stables when zombies did away with everyone else. When Georges finally woke up, no one was around. He gleefully began robbing everyone's personal belongings. The zombies of his bosses devoured Georges as he was trying to lug a floor rug full of silverware into his bosses' car.

000

Billy Parsons of Pine Bluff, Arkansas, was very distraught when his family was bitten by zombies, fell ill, and subsequently died. He was even more distraught when he went down into the basement one day where he had lugged the bodies the day before, unsure what to do with them since the authorities never came around to his house, and the family didn't have cable. While getting a soda out of the meat freezer, he found the bodies moving slightly. Thinking fast, Billy ascertained that his family was NOT coming back from the dead in any nice way... Namely, his mother almost biting his fingers off proved that. Thinking even faster, Billy was able to put the chains that his father kept in the basement to good use. His entire family, now zombies, were now chained to the basement floor. For the moment, Billy was safe.

000

Jorge Marco of Seville, Spain, outran an entire village of zombies on a moped. He eventually made it to the relative safety of Portugal.

000

Kailimdar Orvemarzyc of planet Alpha tore down an entire column of zombies in the streets of the capital city. 1,963 zombies in three hours of constant, truly amazing effort for a man less than one meter in height. That performance rivalled that of the mytho-historical figure Cyraqs.

000

Misao Amano of Tokyo, Japan, arrived home to find that her mother had left her take-out along with a note saying she'd be at work late... again. Misao set down her school satchel and removed her shoes as she made her way into the house, into the kitchen, and sat down at the table after turning on the small TV on the counter.

Misao silently picked at the ramen and idly sipped at the soda in front of her, her mind slowly churning at the day's events. Yes, she had cried again during PE because of how weak she felt, trying to keep up with the other girls... The school nurse had let her take a nap, and she took some aspirin but Misao knew there was no point in calling her mother if she wanted to go home.

"Oh, Misao honey," her mother would say, "I'm simply too busy at the office."

Besides, Misao felt as good as she possibly could feel after the short nap and painkiller. That's how her day went, the same as practically any other day since her father's, Shigoki Amano, disappearance. Misao wondered if part of the reason her mother worked so much was to pay people to locate him. She shook her head as she finished her lunch, her mind slowly settling on two topics that were beginning to press on her mind. One, her dreams were becoming even more enigmatic and, in some cases, disturbing than usual. Two, Misao noticed that about thirty percent of her classmates were absent. As Misao turned her attention to the TV set, she didn't feel all that confident about attendance improving tomorrow.

First, her dreams seem to be more or less coalescing around a forest... yes, a forest in the mountains of one of the more rural parts of Japan. So... green... so much different from any of the parks in or around Tokyo. It seemed this dream would last for the entire night with her just standing somewhere in the part of the forest where it began to clear, overlooking a meadow beyond. Misao liked this place, this place of life and... humming? Yes, she had distinctly heard humming, quiet and meandering in the dream last night. Where was it coming from? Yes, there was a house sitting by a lake. Misao would walk towards this house, and there on the front porch she would find a girl her age with the most curious hair, singing quietly in the afternoon breeze. 'This is a good place to be,' Misao remembered thinking during the dream. This was usually when she would wake up, or find herself in another dream, only not nearly so pleasant...

It was like being on the inside of a typhoon that seemed to have come up to kill a sunny afternoon and banish the notion of daylight forever in a world of thunder, lightning, and wind. Misao could fly in this dream, and she could see what could be called a type of light close by just below her and out of the storm. But... somehow, she knew that heading towards this light would mean the end of her as she knew it. The light didn't look like any sort of light she could remember. In fact, it seemed to almost bend and absorb all things around it... or in it. Frightened, Misao would fly in the opposite direction, but things would get darker, clouds seeming to form around her. The wind would become unbearable... and that's where she woke up from her nap in the Nurse's office.

Misao sighed, sipping more of her ramen as she gradually tuned in to her mind what the TV news people were yammering about.

It seemed some type of epidemic was effecting some rural towns in the Hakkaido region. An epidemic scientists suspected was caused by a biting insect, or maybe even a bat. The symptoms were roughly akin to old reported symptoms of rabies and other diseases that resulted in madness, or a vague trance-like state. Misao shook her head. She had read about rabies in one of her textbooks, an awful, awful disease.

Misao was about to turn the channel since Sailor Moon was coming on anyway when she heard the front door unlock and the telltale sounds of her mother coming in the door. Misao's mother, Kotoe, walked in carrying her usual briefcase that she set down in the foyer.

"Misao!" She called out, "I'm home early!" She seemed happy.

"In the kitchen, Mom," Misao called out.

Kotoe Amano strode into the kitchen, took a sobering look at the TV, and looked back at her daughter, throwing on a smile. "Well, how was school today?"

"Oh... the usual," Misao looked down, her green eyes suddenly finding a comfortable place to focus on the tile floor.

Kotoe nodded. She quickly prepared her own cup of ramen and sat down at the table with a file folder full of reports, also listening to the TV. Kotoe Amano, in the two years since her husband's disappearance, had seemed to age close to ten. Her black hair was beginning to show flecks of grey, and a line or two could be seen around the green eyes she had given her daughter. The features that Misao inherited from her father were her facial features mainly, and his sickly nature. Misao had been in the hospital over a dozen times in her ten-year life for anemia.

"Mom... what's going on?" Misao asked.

Kotoe sighed, raising her eyes up to the TV on the counter. "I don't know, Misao. My boss was planning a lot of overtime to get this big project done... but practically everyone in the office didn't show up for one reason or another. Then, the client calls up and says, basically, forget it. So," she turned to face Misao, a smile on her face, "here I am."

Misao smiled a bit in return. "I made a new friend."

Kotoe cocked an eyebrow, "Real or imaginary?"

"... Imaginary."

000

Tenchi cursed himself for not throwing on a raincoat before venturing out after Ryoko. While the rain had slowed to a steady drizzle, the ground was pretty well saturated, creating a fine sloshing sound as he ran steadily towards the shrine steps. Ryoko was flying some one hundred feet ahead of him, hovering at about ten feet off the ground. Already she was in her form-fitting red and black battlesuit. She was peering at the night around her, her eyes seeing considerably more than those of others.

"Ryoko! Wait up!" Tenchi hollered.

Ryoko only yelled back, "I can see them, Tenchi!"

"Just wait, Ryoko!" Tenchi screamed.

Ryoko did wait, slowly lowering herself to the steps just above Tenchi. She spoke without turning, "Tenchi, just stay behind me, okay?"

Tenchi stopped, "No, we wait for everyone else first."

Ryoko scowled, "What? And, let those things walk around out there?" She turned to Tenchi, "I told you before. We can handle it, you and me together."

Tenchi sighed. "Rushing headlong into a battle isn't good tactics, Ryoko--"

"Spending too much time with your grandfather, Tenchi," Ryoko snorted, but made no effort to move. She waited, surveying their surroundings slowly. It was not long before Ayeka ran up the stairs to meet them, also in her battle gear. The azure ancestral face-paint of the house of Jurai making the shadows seem deeper on the elder princess' face. In the night gloom, Ryoko could make out Kiyone following some distance behind; taking the time to get a flashlight.

When all four were assembled about a quarter of the way up the steps, Ryoko tapped one of her earrings. "Washu, you read me?"

A crackle of static caused by the dimensional interference of the radiation. "I read you, Ryoko. I've got three targets one kilometre distance to the immediate northwest," a pop of static, "--gest you four stay on the lookout -- don't know if my scanners are seeing --thing."

Ryoko nodded, "Gotcha, Washu. You watch as close as you can."

"Affirmative. Be careful, Little Ryoko," Washu's smile could be heard over the garbled communication.

Ryoko scowled again, "Wish she'd stop calling me that..."

"Let's proceed," Kiyone stated, drawing her blaster from her holster, the flashlight attached to the barrel.

Tenchi nodded, noticing Ayeka taking a position next to Ryoko. The cyan-haired woman turned to her rival. "Ayeka, hang back a bit."

Ayeka shook her head, "No, Ryoko... I want to share the risk."

Everyone spared a moment to let the two friends hash this out. Ryoko wasn't standing for it, "I'm the better warrior, Ayeka. Don't be stupid."

The violet-tressed Princess seemed equally as adamant, "And, you're not up to your usual standards, Ryoko."

"Wow, you sure know how to give a good pep talk before a battle, Princess," scowled Ryoko for a third time, her fist clenching at her sides.

"Ryoko..." Tenchi broke in gently, "Ayeka doesn't mean it that way."

Ryoko sighed, looking ahead at the stone stairs going up the forested mountain. A flash of distant lighting briefly illuminated the columns and the shrine roof in the distance. "We're wasting time." Ryoko shot Ayeka a look, "Alright, you and I have point. Satisfied?"

Ayeka nodded in the affirmative, discussion over. Ryoko and Ayeka looked back at Tenchi, his face a bit perturbed in the night drizzle. "I think I'll take the lead," he stated with a fair amount of certainty. "You two cover me."

Both Ayeka and Ryoko were about to protest when a curt look from Kiyone in the night gloom told them to just shut up and deal with it. The two rivals nodded at the object of their affections when Tenchi stepped forward, taking point with Ryoko and Ayeka walking side-by-side right behind him; Kiyone took the rear.

The group of four ascended the staircase of ancient stone slowly and without incident. At the top of the stairs, they proceeded past the shrine temple towards one of the many paths branching off into the forest. Kiyone activated her wrist scanner and pointed down one of the paths; they took the path. The drizzle was starting to die off, and a slight wind was starting to rustle the trees. The entire group was still pretty thoroughly soaked. Lines of lighter clouds in the sky promised the moon would be peeking out soon.

It wasn't long before Ryoko used a hand signal to indicate that Washu through their telepathic link said that their target was dead ahead. Everyone got into a battle-stance: Tenchi activating Tenchi-ken, Ayeka balling her fists and focusing her Jurai power, and Kiyone releasing the safety from her pistol and adjusting her stance, ready to aim at even a cricket if need be. Ryoko simply stood still, fists clenched at her waist and eyes fixed in a glare of amber fire at the forest around them.

They heard their targets before they saw them. A rustle was heard off the path to Ayeka's left. "Who's there!" Ryoko shouted, her voice piercing the night. Everyone immediately turned around to face where Ryoko's demand was aimed and to provide the cyan-haired space pirate a clear line of fire.

No answer.

Ryoko shrugged, "Fine, be that way."

She extended her arm, letting the power flow from her gem into her palm where a red energy ball formed, albeit a bit sluggishly and not quite as powerful as normal. In the split second before Ryoko fired, she calculated that the target would immediately run or hit the deck from the outline in the underbrush. Thus, she timed and aimed two of her energy blasts for the spots where the target should be, not for the place it was. The target didn't move as Ryoko expected it would, and her shots missed it, exploding into a tree trunk and the ground.

Tenchi watched in amazement as the tree started to burn slightly, and the figure continued to lurch forward. Yes, the figure was humanoid... but it was the figure of an ordinary person... dressed in blue jeans and a T-shirt advertising exercise equipment. Tenchi gaped, hesitating for exactly three-quarters of a second before he charged into the undergrowth of the forest after it, Tenchi-ken held high above his head.

He made the same mistake Ryoko made before, thinking the zombie would move in defence or offence of his attack and correcting his blows accordingly. Tenchi slashed down the target's shirt with such precision a tailor would have been envious, but the boy landed right next to the singed tree, scraping his brown and black cold-weather work clothes and slightly burning himself in the process. Tenchi sprang back from the stationary zombie, the figure thankfully featureless by the nightime gloom and the foliage. He landed back on the path just in time to see Ayeka take careful aim and fire.

The elder Jurain Princess noted Ryoko and Tenchi's lack of success and corrected her aim. Ayeka's energy blasts impacted into their intended target, and the left arm of the zombie was blown to a dark mess of blood, skin, muscle, and bone fragments in the night. Ayeka sighed, satisfied that the being would be done for. It surely would surrender, beg for mercy, or at least howl in pain and run off to die somewhere. Kiyone kept her weapon trained on the gloomy figure in the forest.

The figure did nothing, only continued slowly lurching forward with the shirt slowly flapping open in the light wind, the remaining arm outstretched. A faint sound could be heard now coming from the zombie. It was a moaning: a long, droning, lifeless moan.

"... The fuck?" Ryoko asked, astonished.

Kiyone opened fire, aiming for the chest area. The shots connected, and the zombie seemed to be dancing as it continued to stumble forward onto the path. Ayeka and Tenchi quickly getting out of the way beforehand. The zombie's front was totally covered in blood, and blood continued to spray out from the stump of its destroyed arm. It continued to advance on Ryoko.

"Go..." Ryoko let her sword-arm swing her red light-blade back, aiming it just right, "TO HELL!" she screamed as she impaled the zombie through the sternum, the body sliding forward on her blade. Ryoko glared right into the unseeing and yet seeing eyes in the darkness; sneering. Ayeka and Tenchi gazed at her fearfully, not seeing this rage since Kagato. Ryoko swung the blade back again, and with both hands using the red blade as a sort of pitchfork, threw the zombie some one hundred yards up the path landing with a bone-crushing thud.

Ryoko breathed deeply, her eyes fixed on the figure of the zombie. Ahead of her, blood was visible on the wet grass, a dark path to where the body lay. Ryoko didn't say a word, just watched where the broken corpse was lying. She slowly reached up and touched her earring again. "Washu, you seeing this?"

Another crack and pop of dimensional static, "--arely. Good work Ryoko," Washu seemed occupied.

"How many more?" Ayeka asked.

There were a few more pops and hisses of static, the sound of Washu starting to say something, and then silence.

Ryoko's eyes widened as the zombie lying in the middle of the path was beginning to stir again.

000

Warren Hudson awoke to find the dingy fleabag motel room around him the same as when he had gone to sleep. He immediately felt hunger assault him, giving him enough energy to throw back the staid motel covers and amble over to the chair where one of his duffle bags rested. Inside, Warren had in a bottle six raw eggs. He drank them down without thinking. Finding himself with more energy, Warren peered toward the window with its curtains drawn. It was early evening on October 17th. No zombies he could see as he peered out from behind the curtains. Warren would later learn that the military and the National Guard in the Columbus area had had some success dealing with the zombies. For the moment, at least, Warren was safe.

Warren groggily managed to get himself into the bathroom where he relieved himself and turned on the shower, thanking Tsunami there was still running water, hot water at that. He smiled, ducking under the spray. For about an hour, Warren showered, shaved, and washed away the last week. He didn't think about much, just enough of him was awake to tend to his body's needs. By the time his shower was finished, enough of his consciousness was back so that another need was coming to the forefront of his awareness.

After he made an offering of his seed as per his Goddess' orders and prayed, Warren decided that he had spent enough time here, and it was time to plan his next move. He opened his duffle bag, dragged out some crumpled roadmaps, and took a look at the road system. Warren also turned on the TV, getting static. He made a decision and hoped it would be the right one. The decision was based on a dream he had just had where he was crossing the Michigan border on a mission of great importance. Warren thought this was what Tsunami must have meant, that it was important for him to be in this area at this particular time. He grinned a little to himself, remembering when Tsunami had written her name for him in kanji, "Lady of Mystery" in Japanese.

"Certainly got that right," he commented dryly, getting up off the lumpy bed and looking again out the window. Still no zombies seen.

Warren began to feel that he should get out of there now while he still had the chance. He quickly gathered up his belongings, pathetically few they were, leaving his shooting barricade there. There is no time to take it down, and someone might need it later. After dressing for the weather and drawing his pistol, he threw open the door to the room, jumped out, and took a quick survey of the area. Clear, so it seemed.

Warren broke into a sprint down to the stairs at the end of the hallway, descending the stairs, to the front office. It was empty. Warren shrugged, caught between taking an opportunity to save money and stealing. On one hand, he didn't have much money at all, and he might need it. On the other hand, stealing was wrong.

Warren opted for a knight's honesty and left what he thought the bill would have come out to on the counter with a note thanking the motel owner for his hospitality. For a fleabag joint, it really wasn't all that bad. Besides, Warren suspected that in a short time, the new currency in the United States, at least, would be barter, ammunition, or precious metals.

As he drove on a now mostly deserted four-lane highway, noting five abandoned vehicles on his side of the road and only two heading in the opposite direction, Warren thought back on his rest. While refreshing, it still paled in comparison to what his body remembered still after fifty years. This was the spirit's rest he had experienced in the ship of Jurai. Warren smiled, remembering as he drove north, heading towards the Michigan-Ohio border. He would go north for now. There was business for him there, for good or ill.

000

August 12th, 1945.

He was being guided. For a moment, all of Warren's awareness was only rays of light rolling off into infinity. Warren wasn't even sure if he was, let along where he was. It was a while before he realized that he still had hands, and one of his hands was being guided. The rays of light were now more correctly resolved into light shining down through water. Warren looked up ahead. He was moving up towards something, guided by his hand. The next thing that he became aware of was that he could see just as well in the water as it could anywhere else... odd.

Warren tried to see more of who or what was guiding him. He could only make out that it was a female, with long hair that floated about her. She also made him feel at ease. He could also make out that he was doing more than moving up; he...he was ascending! It felt that all of his griefs, worries, and pains had been left behind... back there. This was when Warren blacked out again. If Warren had had more of his marbles, he would have realized that he was still severely injured... but there was no pain.

For a long... long time more, there was only blackness again.

When he came to, he was no longer moving. In fact, even though now he felt so much better, he was totally immobilized. He was also naked, but he barely took note of this fact at first. His eyes were open, but his vision was only slowly coming back to him. Two figures were standing in front of him, conversing with each other. Warren also felt that for the first time in over three years his appearance was no longer that of an emaciated, gaunt, haggard American prisoner of war.

"Goddess... he looks so much better than when you sent me to guide him here," the figure on the left said.

"Yes... it was a trial for me, and his body and soul were badly wounded," the figure on the right sighed sadly as she stepped forward to where Warren was bound. The smells of fresh water, plant growth, and life filled his nostrils. "Yet... his recovery is far from over."

The figure on the left regarded him and the figure on the right for a moment. "He is awake, listening to us, Goddess."

"So he is," the figure on the right said with a touch of humor; louder: "Warren, can you hear me?"

Warren tried to make vocal sounds, but couldn't. Only air and some cracks came out before he coughed. He tried to cover his mouth, but again his arms were bound... Actually, he was set inside a tree from the feel of it.

His eyes were now focused enough so that he can make out that both figures were female... but he could still only make out the facial characteristics of the woman closest to his face. The female on the right had the most unusual hair. Was her hair... blue? Yes, a type of aquamarine blue from what he could see, blurry as it was.

She smiled serenely, the smile familiar and yet unfamiliar to Warren. "It's all right... just relax."

Warren gazed at her, trying hard to focus. There were two small green dots on her forehead. He was confronted all at once with some of his memories. He was dead, wasn't he? He was shot in the head, and he died? Then, where was he? Wasn't there supposed to be nothing just like he had believed since he was a boy?

"... where? ... who?" Warren croaked, his throat dry and tingling, coughing for a bit again.

The woman with the blue hair smiled, "You are on the ship of Jurai, Warren Hudson. Inside myself."

"Am... am I dead?" Warren finally managed to use his vocal cords.

The blue haired woman hesitated for a moment, then, "No, you aren't. We've brought you back."

"I... am I damned?" A flash of irrational fear seemed to overtake Warren then as he squirmed in the tree's bindings.

"No!" the other female, standing further away interjected. "You would never be damned."

"But... but I don't... This can't be happening!" Warren cried, "There's no God..."

"Yes!" the other female said, pointing elegantly towards the blue-haired woman. "There she stands! Your creator!"

The blue haired woman blushed faintly, using one hand to gently wave the other woman silent. Clearly, the one with the two green dots on her forehead was in charge. "This is one of my angels, Aria" she smiled, "Funaho's inhabitant... and your guide to this place."

Warren nodded at both of them, his heart and mind still racing. "I'm Warr... Wait -- how do you know my name?"

Tsunami's face quirked into a small smile.

"I am your creator, Warren, and I've known about you for a long time. I was there when you were born," the blue haired woman smiled a bit more. "Yes, I remember your mother... Her spirit is on the branches of my Tree now, rest assured. Evelyn Hudson is her name. Your father's name is George Hudson... I remember his sorrow. He is with me now, too. They are both so proud of their son."

Warren let tears fall from his eyes freely. The blue-haired woman drew forward and embraced him, her chest meeting his. Warren involuntarily flinched in response; unused to any sort of affectionate contact. But almost immediately, Warren felt a relaxing warmth spread somehow from Tsunami to him. The other female took this opportunity to disappear somewhere. His vision had recovered enough so that he could make out details of the blue-haired woman's clothing. She appeared to wear something vaguely patterned after a kimono.

"What... what is your name?" He felt a compulsion to stare into her pink eyes.

"I am Tsunami." She spoke, and smiled.

"Where am I?" Warren's tears seemed forgotten.

"Inside myself," she stated calmly, answering his question for the second time.

"Why am I here?" Warren asked.

Tsunami gave him a knowing look. "You have labored long and hard, Warren Hudson. You have been wronged, your heart wounded, and yet you did not let darkness consume you."

Warren gave her a slight look of undisguised disbelief. What good had he done? He wasn't even a very good Marine. He was scarcely a month into his tour of duty before he got captured. Tsunami picked up on this. "Who was it that saved Thomas McLaren, Warren?"

Warren remembered McLaren, who he had been shot in the knee and stomach and couldn't move. Warren recalled that he had carried him back to the medics. Warren never knew what had become of McLaren. "He... he lived?"

"Yes, Warren, he still lives," Tsunami's smile seemed able to bring light into even the darkest places.

"There were others you helped, too," Tsunami said, giving him a kiss on the cheek, his first kiss by anyone. "You've done a lot of good, Earth son."

Warren fell silent. Tsunami could feel his mind trying to handle this information, but there were gaps. It was like swimming in a lake with warm and cold spots in the water. He shivered as if things that were so certain to him before now seemed to become fluid and slip through his fingers.

Tears began at the corners of Warren's eyes again. He knew he should remember what exactly was happening, but he didn't. It was lost to him. He felt he was losing his mind, even when he was being brought back. "I... I don't know... I don't remember..."

Tsunami nodded. "It will pass, Warren. You've got a ways to go on your recovery. These are but the first steps."

"Steps?" he whispered.

Tsunami smiled, letting her fingers run through his chest hair just a bit. "Yes, you'll be here for a while."

"Oh..."

Tsunami, knowing he was still afraid, drew close to him again. All the while, the Goddess was examining Warren's mind, deciding what damage there was, what could be repaired, or if Warren was just merely still in a state of shock. Warren's uncertainty of his predicament only confirmed for Tsunami that she would have to revive some of his instincts that were damaged by the bullet that tore through his brain. But, there was something else as she looked back on Warren's life up to this point.

"Warren..." Tsunami began, gentle as silk and twice as sensual, "you've never really masturbated before."

"Wha--?" Warren's eyes seemed about to bug out of his skull, and he blushed seven more shades of red.

Tsunami nodded. "I'm so sorry... You've been so unfortunate in your life. You had no reason to believe that there was someone caring for your soul, and you were ashamed of your desires."

Warren nodded this time, shaking slightly, remembering some of it. In particular, he remembered the several times his Uncle had found some of the stains on his bed clothes after those dreams involving one of the girls in his class. All those days, he woke up finding his pajama bottoms were sticking to him. He remembered his Uncle's punishments. Idly, Warren wondered if the bruises and scars on his back would ever disappear. No one ever took the time to even tell Warren just what basic human biology was about. Nebraska in the late 1930s wasn't exactly that progressive in its school system, and even if they were, Warren was frequently not in school but hauling horse shit from side of his Uncle's farm to the other. Even observing the animals on the farm was useless as they were almost all castrated.

Warren was able to get into the Marines in 1940 with the help of a sympathetic recruiter. The man recognized the desperate young man's strong back and willingness to get away from his asshole of an Uncle. Other military camps allowed small trailer park vice districts to spring up around them, but the commandant where Warren underwent basic training was probably the most prudish in all the US military. Conversations of sex among the soldiers were never very detailed and while Warren was able to pick up some basic facts, he never knew he was missing out on so much. In fact, it could be said that Warren was in a group of the dullest recruits. From basic, it was straight to Pearl Harbor and more training. While he was there, Warren wasn't chosen for a date because of his shyness and his lack of the type of charm women of his culture looked for. Another thing was his loyalty and commitment to an order; while admirable, this made him a popular gopher and ate up most of his time.

As a result, Warren's ideas about sex were underdeveloped and, in his mind, associated with shame. Tsunami frowned, knowing that this must not be allowed to persist much longer. Everyone had the right to, at the very least, sexual satisfaction with themselves. Warren had become a man who, though tattered, contained a shining soul. Tsunami noted, with some sense of irony, that while this man had done more good in a simple twenty-one years than what most men could potentially do in thousands... he had never really never taken himself in hand, in any sense of the phrase.

Tsunami drew herself in close, her forehead touching his. "Sleep for now, Warren; we can discuss everything when you're rested."

Warren felt himself drifting back to sleep as he enjoyed Tsunami's touch, his eyes drooped and the fatigue beginning to claim him once again. It was different from the many times he'd slept before. The approaching slumber felt healing rather than his body simply giving out. The healing consumed every fiber of his being.

Tsunami smiled sadly as the man in front of her slept, his respiration a normal rate. Soon, he was in REM sleep. The Goddess of Light sighed; she had work to do, yes. This was a special case, this Warren Hudson. Tsunami made sure he would have no nightmares, only peaceful dreams of cool grasses and the scent of growing things. He would also be able to move around in these dreams, for he would not be leaving the healing confines of the tree for a long time.

Aria, in her usual quietness, appeared and knelt respectfully beside Tsunami: her violet hair framing her face and slightly obscuring the look in her eyes; her arms folded neatly across the white robes she wore.

"Thoughts, Aria?" the Goddess asked.

"He is a fragile one, Goddess," Aria whispered. "Will he be all right?"

Tsunami thought for a moment, then nodded in the affirmative. "Yes... in time."

Aria gave Tsunami a guarded look, "May I ask what you are intending with him, Tsunami?"

Tsunami sighed, saying nothing for a moment. "You'll know when I know, Aria. Nothing is certain yet."

Aria's gaze lingered for a moment on Warren's flaccid penis as he slept. Tsunami's was fixed on Warren's face, concentrating on her next labor. Aria spoke, "He'll need release before too long."

"Yes," Tsunami said, "but he needs healing and to be in a calmer state of mind first." She turned to Aria, "Return to Funaho's branches. There are wishes to grant." A touch of humor was evident in Tsunami's voice.

Aria silently bowed, phasing out again. Tsunami returned her eyes to Warren, a light-blue halo appearing around her and slowly spreading out to envelop Warren's body in its light. The halo spread outward and grew brighter, becoming a corona. If anyone was watching, they would have seen the form of the Goddess glow white and fade into several spiralling strands of energy. The strands of energy surrounded Warren, his body now completely lost in the blinding light.

000

TO BE CONTINUED...


	3. The Name of the Game

Tenchi Muyo - Negative Genesis 

Part 1, Chapter 3. "The Name of the Game" October 17th, 1995

By JockoMegane.

"The Stand" by Stephen King, and "Dawn of the Dead" written/directed by George A. Romero inspire this story. More and more inspiration from "The Lord of the Rings" by JRR Tolkien is also starting to creep into my mind while writing this. Not too mention many other sources that have slowly colonized my mind over the years.

Send all comments and criticisms to: A long tale of Dark Tsunamism.

DISCLAIMER: Tenchi and his gang of vigilante crime fighters along with various Pretty Sammy bingo league members are the property of Pioneer LDC, AIC, and Hiroki Hayashi, er...did I say Hayashi? I meant Masaki Kajishima, of course! "The Stand" is the property of Stephen King, and "Dawn of the Dead" is (should be) the property of George A. Romero. I am not making any money from this venture, neither should anyone else. All the works that I make reference to herein are done in the greatest of humility and admiration. Please don't sue me.

MISSION STATEMENT: This story is intended as coming from the balls.

NOTE: The continuity in this story is OVA 2 plus Kiyone. For this tale, GXP and Kajishima's OVA 3 do not exist.

Very special thanks to KaiKerrigan, EvilPii, jaug, Negative-Z, Lostowl, and Carnage Black for the reliable sounding boards, suggestions, support and beta reads while this work was being undertaken.

Edited by Carnage Black, Zyraen, and EvilPii.

For K'thardin and Lostowl.

000

October 17th, 1995. Early morning.

Azaka and Kamidake were standing guard in their usual position, their energy shield surrounding the house, sufficient power coming from Ryu-oh, everything nominal. The disruption in Jurai power came so quick and so complete that neither guardian was scarcely even able to register surprise. Their lights simply dimmed, and the shield silently faded from around the Masaki house, leaving it defenseless.

Yosho stood in front of Funaho, ready to attack even a stray falling leaf that came too close to his tree. For him too, he never saw the disruption in Jurai power coming, his knees buckled, and he was soon on his hands and knees vomiting. Yosho struggled to remain conscious, but it felt as if a steel sledgehammer had just clubbed him over the head. Repeatedly.

Ayeka was doubled over in severe pain on the path, retching. She had already thrown up, and seemed perfectly fine with doing it again. Gently, Tenchi was coaxing her to just let it all out. To tell the truth, Tenchi at this point was feeling pretty damn sick too, and it took a supreme effort for him not to toss his cookies. Ayeka did vomit again.

Warren Hudson, for his part, was stopped on the side of state road 23 near Sandusky, Ohio. It took all he had to pull over to the side of the road and open the driver's side door so he could vomit on the shoulder of the road. Fortunately, after he vomited once Warren was well enough to continue on his way.

Sasami was still asleep, though her dreams were fearful. Her rate of respiration quickened, and sweat broke out on her brow. She didn't vomit, thankfully, and by all appearances she seemed to have a heavy fever. She groaned, tossing in her futon, her arm splaying out to the side. Ryo-ohki myaa'd in worry as she tiptoed out of the futon and took up a defensive position in front of the little princess' sleeping form.

"...Tsunami...help us," Sasami whimpered in her sleep.

000

Tenchi took care of Ayeka. Ryoko and Kiyone stood shoulder to shoulder, facing the zombie as lurched its way to his feet, his good arm obviously broken and his neck hanging at an even odder angle than before. "Kiyone," Ryoko said, her laser-sword disappearing into orbs of red energy and forming again in the palms of her hands, "aim for the head."

"Got it," Kiyone nodded, aiming her pistol the best she could in the dark, and clicking it to its highest setting. "Ready?"

"When you are," Ryoko sneered as the zombie started taking another few steps toward them.

"Fire!" Kiyone shouted. The two women fired, but the zombie continued moving, a bit faster than they had been expecting and their shots impacted on the zombie's shoulders, neck and lower jaw; all parts exploding into a confetti of blood, bone fragments, teeth, and muscles. The main part of the zombie's head flew up into the air, tumbling forward onto the path before them.

The decapitated head, relieved of its lower jaw, continued to gum its way forward on the ground, its eyes flickering but still intent on its goals with the same dead intensity.

"DAMN'T!" Washu smacked her holo-top into a million tiny particles. All of her sensor and communication instruments were dead and for all she knew her daughter and her friends were being attacked by a hundred of those things out there. Washu jumped off her red plush cushions and picked up a blaster rifle; one of her special inventions. The red-haired child scientist clicked the weapon on, checking the power cells. Still operating at full power, at least something was working around the house.

Washu ran over to the front door, stopping at the stairs. "Nobuyuki, Mihoshi! Stay here, and if anyone comes in here, unidentified...shoot them!" she left without waiting for them to answer.

Once outside, Washu clicked off the safety, hefted the rifle up in her arms (it was perfectly shaped for her child-form) and she began running towards Ryoko, Tenchi, Kiyone, and Ayeka's last position.

Azaka and Kamidake, on emergency low power standby mode, never registered the slow but steady approach of a single zombie wearing a high school baseball team uniform. In life the young woman, about 17 years old, was one of the star players on the Okayama High School team named Shion Ibuki. Unfortunately, she chose to walk home from practice one day, even more unfortunate, she decided to take a short cut through the woods behind a funeral home.

Now Shion Ibuki was a zombie, her neck still bleeding slightly from the bite wounds inflicted by the zombie that killed her. She was now slowly managing to slide open the sliding glass door into the Masaki family's living room. With Washu gone, there was no one to see the zombie of what was Shin Ibuki slowly walk across the living room past the various holographic monitors that were showing various status screens all saying, in essence, "SIGNAL LOST."

The zombie reached the landing of the stairs, its inner senses telling it that the only sources of red meat and warm brains in the vicinity were directly up the stairs and to the left. It slowly started to slide and step its way up the stairs.

"Who...who's there?" a woman's voice called out; a sweet, airy voice.

000

Nobuyuki and Mihoshi stood in front of Sasami's room, their faces seeming to drain of life as they heard the sounds of someone making their way up the stairs. The someone, by not responding, confirmed their worst fears. For a terrifying moment they both seemed unable to do anything but look at each other.

"Mihoshi...!" Nobuyuki hissed, "Get in the room and lock the door. Don't open it unless I tell you too...protect Sasami and Ryo-ohki!" he put his hand on her shoulder and gave it a slight squeeze, his eyes telling her to obey.

The blonde-haired woman's expressive eyes looked into Nobuyuki's for a fraction of a second, then she nodded. Right away, she opened the door, went in, and slammed it shut. Nobuyuki could hear the lock being clicked into place along with one of the log cargo containers from Ryu-oh being moved in front of the door as a barricade.

The sounds continued, ever closer. Nobuyuki's eyes bored their way straight ahead to the top of the stairs of the house he designed and help, however peripherally, build. At his side his hand held the wooden baseball bat from his short-lived high school baseball career. After playing five games and striking out five times (plus many more times in practice), he decided to focus his attention on drawing.

The sounds were at the top of the stairs now. Nobuyuki could discern a type of low moaning whine. He gripped the bat, his hands raising it menacingly in front of him, the knuckles of his hands shaking as they worked around the American hickory wood handle. Nobuyuki gritted his teeth, feeling the need to shout.

"Whoever you are, don't come any closer!"

He could see a hand undulating a bit around the corner, then the well-developed chest of a young woman, her pallid skin, her shoulders, and her neck that looked like someone had taken a butcher knife to it. Blood gurgled and coursed out of the wounds on her neck; caking on the front of her uniform. Nobuyuki gulped, his fingers working around the wood again as the zombie fully came into view. His mouth opened and closed, as his eyes made contact with the most horrible thing he had ever witnessed in his life up to that point. The zombie stepped up onto the hallway's landing, its head craning around to face Nobuyuki. It slide-stepped forward, hands starting to rise in front of its body.

'All right, Nobuyuki,' he thought to himself, 'this is the part of the movie where you laugh really hard at her, she disappears, you wake up, or everyone comes out of hiding saying this is all just a big damn joke, and you're the one with the booby prize...' he mentally shook himself to retune his thoughts to reality. This was all too painfully real.

She was closer now, significantly. Her arms still reached out for him in obscene dirty little claws. There was that low, steady whining moan again as her feet stepped and labored down the hall towards him. A look of cold glass, like looking into a deep frozen pond held sway over her eyes. In all the time Nobuyuki was watching her, she had not blinked once. Nevertheless, that whine did grow perceptively louder.

Nobuyuki glared, his fear starting to turn to white-hot rage at this thing that had invaded HIS home. Threatened HIS family! The zombie had closed the distance between them down to about three feet. The zombie's head had slightly cocked to the side, as if somehow sounding out the room he was guarding. That was when Nobuyuki Masaki's rage burst forth from him.

"ARGHHHH!" Nobuyuki swung the bat over his head and brought it down on the zombie's head as hard as he possibly could.

The blow connected with the skull of the zombie with a dull, but very audible, thud. The zombie stumbled back from the shock of it, reflexively blinking as blood appeared on the scalp of the hair and the forehead (the bat was also a bit red) but it's eyes remained trained directly on the man. Nobuyuki howled again in rage, he began beating the zombie's head repeatedly. Over the skull, on the side, once, twice, again and again. He never noticed the amount of blood steadily increasing with each and every blow. The middle-aged architect just kept going, his vision seeming to split in two. At once, he was conscious of what he was doing, and at the same time, things seemed very distant. The gap between the two seemed to only increase as he crashed the wooden bat into the zombie female's skull as long and as hard as his arms would allow him to.

Blood splattered onto his clothing, on to the walls, the floor, some even on the ceiling. Yet, Nobuyuki continued pounding away, his glasses falling off his face as he bent down to better club the hideous thing's head in more as it was forced down by his repeated blows. Nobuyuki briefly registered feeling the zombie's arms touch his arms and chest, but that stopped as soon as he briefly saw both of its eyes dislodged from their sockets. He did not even hear the repeated crunch of the zombie's skull caving in, or really notice the brains starting to seep out onto the hard wood floor Achika had worked so hard to maintain. Eventually, his inner rage cooled, and his knees gave out. Nobuyuki sank to the floor against Sasami's door, breathing heavily, having one hell of a headache, sweating, a hurt shoulder, and he was crying. Oh how he was crying.

"M...Mihoshi! It's safe now," with that, he fainted.

000

Funaho-Tree stood in the night air, its branches absorbing the just-concluded night rain, swaying gently in the breeze. Above the ancient space tree, the stars and sickle moon were beginning to peek out from behind the clouds. Some animals and night birds could be heard going about their nightly business. Below on Funaho's roots there lay Yosho with a puddle of vomit lying in front of him.

Slowly, a single ray of rainbow light blinked into existence by a solitary leaf on one branch. Then another. And another. Soon Funaho was awakened, the tree's entire form bathed in white, shimmering light. Inside the branches of the tree--if one had the talent to do so--they would have sworn for a split second to see the form of a violet haired young woman. She was standing, resplendent in her flowing white robes, with a sword of green flames drawn at her side, gazing up at the sky. If this person had seen this display of radiance, if they had seen the form of the young woman with her sword of flame bared, they might have correctly surmised that she was attacking a foe somehow in the sky above.

Yosho groaned as he regained consciousness, his vision blurred but recovering fast. He got to his feet, picked up his bokken and looked around; reorienting himself. Good thing too, there was a zombie approaching from his rear-left. Yosho smote the zombie on the head, hard enough to kill it on the first blow. He surveyed the immediate vicinity for more enemies, relieved that his powers were back. With a look of gratitude to his tree--and getting a mental signal from its inhabitant,--Yosho ran away from the tree towards where Funaho said Tenchi, Ryoko, Ayeka and Kiyone were.

000

A flash of rainbow light slightly illuminated the darkness of the forest path behind the shrine where Tenchi was helping Ayeka lose her dinner and several snack foods. Almost as immediately as it had started shining in the distance, the light was gone. To Tenchi's relief, Ayeka almost immediately seemed to feel better.

Ryoko and Kiyone stood a good distance away from the severed zombie head is it continued slowly gumming its way on the top half of its jaw towards Ayeka and Tenchi. At the rate it was going, it'd be there in about an hour. Kiyone was using her tricorder, getting as much data as she could. After a minute, she snapped the instrument shut and put it back on her belt. Ryoko watched the zombie head with brooding silence as Kiyone conducted her scans, both of them keeping pace with the pace of the zombie head's gumming.

"You want to do the honors?" Kiyone asked, again confirming with her eyes just how hideous what was left of the zombie actually was.

Ryoko nodded silently. This surprised Kiyone, she had been expecting a reaction. A smartass comment, a cocksure nod, or even the usual glint in her eyes. However, this this was not much of anything. Just Ryoko nodding and raising her fist directly above the head, generating a small red ball of energy, releasing it, and thus totally obliterating the rest of the head. Ryoko stood there for a moment, seeming to go somewhere inside herself. Kiyone was about to speak when Ryoko abruptly turned back to where Tenchi was taking care of Ayeka.

"How is she, Tenchi?" she asked, her voice sounding fatigued.

"I...I am all right," Ayeka rasped, coughing, obviously allowing Tenchi to help her to her feet.

Ryoko's lips curled into a smile. "Take your time, Princess."

Both Tenchi and Ayeka blushed, the latter more than the former. Tenchi's blush also seemed a bit different than Ayeka's...more of a look of innocent embarrassment than simply being caught in the act. Ryoko watched this, the smirk still firmly planted on her lips, but she set it aside for now.

"Well," Kiyone said, checking her tricorder readings again, "things seem to have cleared up now," the detective's brow furrowed, "it seems a large burst of energy just occurred," in that direction, she pointed into the forest.

"Yeah, that flash of light," Ryoko stated, turning on her heel and going back to Ayeka and Tenchi, "let's get back to the house--"

"Helllloooooo? Anyone out there?" Washu's voice called from up the path to the shrine.

"Washu!" Tenchi shouted, "over here!"

The petite red-haired scientist trudged up, still brandishing the blaster rifle, she obviously was very relieved that everyone was all right.

"Where the hell have you been?" Ryoko remarked in almost languid sarcasm.

Washu clicked the safety back on the rifle, setting it on its butt as she summoned another holo-top into existence. She breathed another sigh of relief. "Thank the Kami," she smirked, "everything's back to normal...hell, it even looks like I've gained back some things I haven't had in over two weeks."

The group slowly assembled around Washu as a few more holographic screens popped up around them. All scanners seemed to be operational.

"No more intruders in the area?" Tenchi asked hopefully.

"Correct, Tenchi," Washu clicked a button, and the holograms disappeared, she shouldered her blaster rifle again. "Let's get back to the house, I want a full and detailed report on...our new enemy."

Ayeka's attention perked up, "wait a minute...Little Washu, what is Azaka and Kamidake's condition?"

Washu's eyes met those of the princess, realizing the same fear. "Azaka! Kamidake!" she shouted.

The voice of Kamidake filled the air around the group as they ran back along the path, to the shrine courtyard. "Princess Ayeka, Dr. Washu, we seem to have recovered from a temporary disruption in the flow of power from Ryu-oh..."

"Condition of Sasami!" Ayeka nearly screamed as she ran.

"Princess Sasami is fine, Princess," Azaka replied, "please come quickly, Lord Nobuyuki has killed an intruder."

As the group ran faster, only Ryoko seemed to think for a moment that Azaka's statement seemed a bit peculiar. 'Nobuyuki? But wasn't Mihoshi the one charged with protecting Sasami...?' she thought apprehensively as they descended the steps (where they met up with Yosho) and towards the house.

000

Nobuyuki Masaki thought at first that he had fallen asleep at his drafting table. This relatively comfortable notion was dispelled first by his position; sitting on the floor with his back up against the wall. The next thing that told him that this wasn't anything nearly as pleasant as simply working too hard was the smell...the iron, metallic scent of blood. The final thing that shattered Nobuyuki's comfortable fancy was the persistent hand shaking his shoulder.

"Dad...Dad!" his son's voice caused him to open his eyes. Almost everything was blurry, as his glasses had somehow fallen off. Nobuyuki didn't know where they were.

"...Tenchi?" Nobuyuki asked his eyes shifted away from Tenchi's worried face to survey the rest of his surroundings. He remembered everything now. Nobuyuki's breathing quickened, as his eyes focused on the carnage he had wrought not long before. Behind Tenchi stood Ryoko, the space pirate sparing a moment to acknowledge Nobuyuki before going on investigating the bloodstained walls...and the now very dead zombie laying somewhat down the hall. Obviously, the body had been moved. Next to Nobuyuki, Sasami's door was open and the two Princesses could be heard inside along with Mihoshi. Tearful reunion, from the sound of it.

Ryoko bent down close to the crushed skull of the zombie, its brain seeming to be coming out of its ears and nose as well as the very prominent gashes on the tops and sides of the head. The neck bones were also totally broken by the way the neck hung on the floor. Not to mention the crushed eye sockets and the eyeballs with it. Ryoko whistled, her eyes darting back to Nobuyuki, who was trying his best to fight off tears again. "You did that with a baseball bat?" she shook her head in amazement, seeing Tenchi's father in a new light.

Nobuyuki said nothing, only breathing heavily again. He felt ill, Tenchi gave Ryoko a look that said the praise was not helping now. Ryoko nodded in response, understanding completely, and going to confer quietly with her mother.

Nobuyuki heard Washu clacking away as usual on her holo-top, several of her drone spheres were busy scanning and taking samples of the bloody mess. She seemed satisfied with what she was finding out.

He groaned as he sat forward, holding his head wondering if the throbbing would ever go away. "How long have I been out, Tenchi?"

"We got back about ten minutes ago, Dad," he gave his father a cup of water and a couple of pills. "Take those, Washu says they'll help." Nobuyuki did so, after he gulped down the water he noticed Tenchi's gaze turned upward to the door. Nobuyuki turned his head, and there stood Ayeka.

"Honorable father," the elder Princess of Jurai stated formally, "you and Detective Mihoshi have saved my sister's life," she smiled, tears framing her features, "and for that you two shall have my gratitude forever," her eyes shifted to Tenchi for a mere moment, "it is plain to be seen that Lord Tenchi gets his courage from more than one source."

Nobuyuki smiled, in spite of the circumstances. Far be it for Nobuyuki Masaki to ever refuse praise from a lovely woman. His eyes shifted down to see two pink eyes belonging to Sasami Jurai peeking around Ayeka's skirts. Above Ayeka's shoulders were the most expressive eyes, next to Achika's, Nobuyuki had ever seen. What came next was obvious. Ayeka quickly got out of the way as Sasami and Mihoshi pretty much glomped Nobuyuki. A crunch of glass and frame was heard, as Nobuyuki's glasses were simultaneously found and destroyed by Mihoshi.

Everyone smiled a bit. It would not be long before it became another piece of Masaki family folklore.

Nobuyuki smiled back, kissing each girl's hair as he hugged them, tears of happiness falling from his eyes. He paid his glasses no mind, he only held the two members of his family he had tried so hard to protect...and succeeded. It still chilled his soul to think that only him and a wooden door protected Sasami and Mihoshi from...that thing that Tenchi was now taking a closer look at. Specifically, Tenchi was looking at the baseball uniform the female zombie corpse was dressed in.

Sasami wept into Nobuyuki's shoulder, "oh...father! I was sooo scared!"

Nobuyuki and Mihoshi comforted her, even if Mihoshi was crying as usual. Sasami continued, "Mihoshi held on to me...she pointed her gun at the door, she was as brave as you!" the little girl wept.

"No...no, we held on to each other! Nobi saved us both!" tears continued to fountain from the blonde's blue eyes.

Tenchi's eyes widened from where he kneeled next to the zombie, he looked at what was left of the face, then the name on the back of the uniform. "Kami...this is Shion Ibuki..." he breathed.

"Who?" Ryoko looked up from over Washu's shoulder.

"A girl on the school baseball team," Tenchi's voice seemed hollow, "she was one of their star players...she was going to Tokyo U when she graduated...oh Kami," he clapped his hands together twice, and bowed his head in prayer for her soul.

Nobuyuki wept again, "I'm...sorry, son," it was Mihoshi's turn to comfort him now.

Ryoko took a step towards Tenchi, his eyes met hers when he finished his prayer for Ibuki's soul. "Tenchi...I know it's little consolation, but that," she pointed to the bloody mess on the floor, "was not her in any way."

Tenchi nodded, wiping a few tears away, nodded. "I know, Ryoko...I know, but it's just..." he trailed off, unable to find the right words.

"It is all right, Lord Tenchi," Ayeka said quietly, her eyes settling once again on the bloody remains of the zombie. "I am sure we would all feel the same if we knew who these people once were..."

Silently, Mihoshi and Sasami pulled Nobuyuki to his feet and into the room he had protected, Ayeka stood outside for a moment, unsure of what to do or where to go.

"Washu!" Yosho shouted up the stairs.

"Yeah?" Washu shouted back.

"Kiyone has that data you requested," Yosho answered.

"Send her on up," Washu returned her full attention to her holo-top, her voice softer: "seems after our little 'escapade' tonight I finally can create a good model of what's happening and, hopefully, how to control it."

Ryoko seemed about ready to offer up a sarcastic remark or two, but only nodded and seemed about ready to fall asleep where she levitated.

Kiyone made her way up the stairs, when she reached the top she looked at the corpse, then to Sasami's door with great longing. It only lasted for a split-second and only Ayeka noticed it because she was looking straight ahead anyway.

Kiyone snapped her attention from the door behind Ayeka to Washu down the hall next to Tenchi's door. She strode over, lugging along with her something that looked like a metallic briefcase with several cables sticking out of the device, one of Yagami's data banks. She gave Washu the piece of equipment as well as several tricorder data sticks, and without saying a word strode back to Sasami's door, bowing respectfully to Ayeka.

Ayeka silently nodded and allowed Kiyone into the room.

Ryoko gave the princess a look and a shrug, "I'm going out on the roof--"

"No, you don't," Tenchi cut her off, "you're getting some rest, Ryoko."

"The hell I am!" she said indignantly, but not as hotly as normal.

"Ryoko!" Washu yelled up at her, "for Kami sakes," she ticked off the points on her fingers, "all my systems are back up, Azaka and Kamidake too along with their shield around the house, all enemy activity in the area is gone," her voice softened, "rest, my Little Ryoko."

Ryoko shook her head angrily, "Washu! Everything was fine before! And look what almost happened!" she stabbed a gesture at the zombie on the floor; now really starting to reek.

Washu clicked a few more buttons on her holo-top, interfacing with the GP equipment, "exactly what I'm getting to the bottom of right now, dear."

"Myself and Lord Tenchi can handle things, Ms. Ryoko," Ayeka started.

"Ah!" Washu wagged a finger at Tenchi and Ayeka. "Both of you get some sleep too. Remember, it's Yosho's shift. Let's keep our time-table."

000

Detective First Class Mitsuki ambled down the main corridor of office block E-6 at Galaxy Police Headquarters with her partner Rus Lamiz following at his usual discreet distance behind her. Mitsuki shook her head, as she digested what she had learned...

Everybody and their uncle who was a sector commander seemed to be rebelling against the GP's command structure, or the planetary and Galactic Union's governments. Massacres (yes, Mitsuki and Lamiz had paled upon hearing that. Massacres!) on fifteen planets and after assisting in moping up operations on Orphalis II (moping up after just what no one was at liberty to discuss) now they arrived back at HQ to find the facility on a war footing.

"Can you believe this?" Mitsuki threw over her shoulder as she sidestepped to avoid an equipment float left in the middle of the corridor unattended.

Lamiz didn't answer.

Mitsuki sighed as they arrived at their office, she palmed the door open, turned on the light, and went inside.

"How long do we have?" Lamiz asked coolly as he went to the weapons locker, changing out the charger shells in his blaster.

Mitsuki was standing at her desk, quickly going through her messages on the console. "General officers meeting at 1500," she glanced at the chronometer. "Ten minutes."

"Any word what's going to happen at this meeting, Detective?" Lamiz was now in the bathroom.

"We'll find out soon enough," Mitsuki grumbled as she adjusted her left boot; she hadn't slept in three days or had a shower in two.

Orphalis II had been a nightmare. A planet that looked like a mass orgy of rioting had broken out in the largest cities and spread like spiders hatching across the countryside. On Orphalis, popularly known as the "teal-haired planet of the four Gods," had a deep-seated revulsion to any form of cremation or disposal of the dead other than burial. Even then, the body had to be embalmed and mummified in an eight-day process. When the zombie problem began appearing on Orphalis, the recently, unembalmed, and semi-embalmed dead began to stir and spread. It only got worse from there, as Mitsuki remembered her and Lamiz's role in trying to contain an area after several local priests announcing that the dead were coming back to absolve and purify Orphalis of all its sins. Anyone trying to desecrate the dead, or living dead, or anyone seen burning a body should be killed immediately. Orphalis went from green, to endangered, to red, to past red in the space of not even two days.

Mitsuki shook her head, "Four billion dead..." she whispered.

Lamiz was still in the bathroom. The toilet flushed and the sink could now be heard running. Mitsuki suspected her partner was more than a bit broken up about Orphalis, but wasn't willing to talk much about it yet. In fact, he seemed to become even more withdrawn than usual since just before they went to Orphalis, right after Honataru Ortega made his escape.

A small, triumphant grin came to Mitsuki's face unbidden that she banished almost immediately. Was it particularly bad of her to be satisfied with her actions so soon after seeing hell on Orphalis? Mitsuki hoped to whatever powers were watching over her fortunes (and the last time she slept it seemed to her that those two presences were still watching her...one wanting her to join her, the other wanting her to confess her sins) would make this whole zombie upset pass soon so she could collect on the bribe Ortega promised to pay her in the person of Garm Ric.

'Bribe?' she wondered. Odd, she never called it that in her thoughts before...

Lamiz opened the bathroom door and strode out. He threw a bland look to Mitsuki, "ready, Detective?" he asked.

Mitsuki nodded, she walked over to the bathroom to quickly freshen up. After straightening herself up a bit (she really needed a shower, still) Mitsuki walked out to find Lamiz standing a few steps back from where he was before. Mitsuki subconsciously took the necessary steps forward to place her at the door, which she palmed open. What she saw next was the last thing she ever expected to see to the point that her jaw gaped open.

Two GP Internal Affairs agents, armed, stood in the doorway. "Detective First Class Mitsuki, you are under arrest for bribery and dereliction of duty in regards to the 'arrest,' as it were, of Honataru Ortega..." the voice of the lead humanoid canine agent seemed to drown itself out as Mitsuki's eyes lowered, her face taking on an obvious note of shock.

Mitsuki hardly remembered her rights being read to her, or her muted confirmation that she would go along quietly. However, her badge and her gun being removed from her and Lamiz's expression of satisfied glee proved too much to bear and a tear trailed down her cheek as she was put into handcuffs and led out of her office towards the detention block.

'Best believe someone's payin' the pied piper,' Mitsuki thought miserably as tried to look at the expression on her fellow officer's faces in the corridors as the proud, gung-ho, and "that ambitious young go-getter" Mitsuki was being marched away in manacles. Later, she would recall the two Internal Affairs officers chatting about how she might be stuck in the GP HQ pokey for "a while," considering the current security situation. Little did Mitsuki, the officers escorting her, Lamiz, or anyone else on the station for that matter, know how long "a while" would turn out to be.

000

Dr. Millard Ralse and Howard Staten have seemingly been on the air for hours, both men are agitated and seem ready to tear each other apart. Empty and half-full Dixie cups of water and coffee are strewn all over the anchor desk on Staten's end in Baltimore, and people are milling about the newsroom on Ralse's end in Detroit.

Ralse, agitated : "What's making it happen? What the hell difference does it make, what's making it happen."

Staten, equally agitated: "Yes, but that's..."

Ralse: "That's a whole other study. They're trying..."

Staten: "But if we knew that, we could..."

Ralse: "We don't know that! We don't know that! We've gotta operate on what we do know!"

Staten: "I don't believe that, Doctor, and I don't agree with what you are suggesting..."

Ralse: "Do you believe the dead are returning to life?"

Staten: "I'm not so..."

Ralse: "Do you believe the dead are returning to life and attacking the living?"

Staten: "I'm not sure what to believe, Doctor! All we get is what you people tell us. And it's hard enough to believe..."

Ralse: "It's fact...It's fact!"

Jeers and other shouts can be heard in both studio locations, seems a camera on Ralse's end is simply locked in place with no camera operator behind it. Sometimes a member of the crew can be seen in the background making lewd and obscene gestures. On Staten's end, a camera operator can be heard getting fed up, and shouting several obscenities at Staten, and stalking off. Others throw McDonald's and Taco Bell wrappers at the news desk.

Staten: "It's hard enough to believe this without you sitting pretty in your CDC perch and telling us we have to forget our homes and crowd into 'shelters' the army has set up!"

Ralse: "You're not running a talk show here, Mr. Staten...you can forget pitching an audience the moral, populist bullshit they want to hear!"

Staten: "You're talking about crowding us all into what amounts to concentration camps, with no weapons, making every man, woman, and child sitting ducks for these things! And there's a lot of us who aren't ready for that Dr. Ralse..."

Several cheers are heard on Staten's end, and it seems now that Ralse is speaking in a studio that is being run on a skeleton crew or less.

000

food n.

1. Material, usually of plant or animal origin, that contains or consists of essential body nutrients, such as carbohydrates, fats, proteins, vitamins, or minerals, and is ingested and assimilated by an organism to produce energy, stimulate growth, and maintain life.

2. A specified kind of nourishment: breakfast food; plant food.

3. Nourishment eaten in solid form: food and drink.

4. Something that nourishes or sustains in a way suggestive of physical nourishment: food for thought; food for the soul.

Middle English fode, from Old English fda. See p- in Indo-European Roots.

Source: The American Heritage(r) Dictionary of the English Language, Fourth Edition

Copyright (c) 2000 by Houghton Mifflin Company.

Published by Houghton Mifflin Company. All rights reserved.

The above definition states that food is a necessity for sustenance. Sustenance means life, and life means continuing on one's quest. Unfortunately for Warren Hudson the Knight with a tendency to prepare for a hundred different possibilities, except for the one that almost invariably would come around to bite him in the ass later, found himself in a hell of a jam upon crossing the Michigan/Ohio state border. He had just emptied out his last bag of Fritos.

"Damn't!" he smacked the steering wheel in front of him as he swerved to avoid another four-car pile-up in the lane ahead. Warren then had to swerve again to avoid hitting about seven dead bodies (from the injuries sustained on their heads, obviously terminated zombies) and the sky seemed to be clouding up on a relatively flat expanse of land between the Michigan border and Detroit. He was now on US 75, hugging Lake Erie. The temperature was 65 degrees Fahrenheit and the moisture provided a clammy feel that promised rain. It was just past 4:00 in the afternoon and the green of the vegetation on the side of the highway contrasted with a sleepy sort of consistency with the white drabness of the sky above. The type of fall afternoon Michigan was famous for; Warren had to roll up the window of the Challenger as the temperature plummeted ten degrees after he crossed the state line.

After his vomiting episode near Sandusky a few hours before, Warren had found the rightness of his instinct to travel north. The entire western sky seemed filled with smoke. Warren knew that it had been a dry summer and fall nation-wide...and with fire units otherwise dead or occupied, it seemed the entire extreme western part of Ohio and into Indiana was on fire. His abilities, briefly disrupted during and immediately after he was sick seemed to have returned. However, as Warren scanned the road ahead with his eyes and his other senses, he had not come across much of anything to detect for a while anyway. He tried to keep both overconfidence and petrifying foreboding to a minimum.

As Warren tuned the CB into some of the emergency channels, it seemed that the fire was the result of the use of flame-throwers to control the zombie population. Warren smiled at that, just as long as the zombies were gone for him to find a way down into Indiana, and Illinois beyond he should be in pretty good shape. All he had to do was get to the Detroit Metro area, and decide how exactly he'd get out of the state. There was going through Indiana and Illinois, yes, but there was also going north to the upper peninsula of Michigan, or even Canada if that proved easier to get to the Pacific coast. Hell, Warren would go to Alaska if he had to. Another possibility was that the Detroit or Lansing airports might still be in operation somehow, but Warren was not getting his hopes up about flying anywhere anymore. From what he heard on the radio on a news/talk station (right before it went off the air playing Buffalo Springfield's "Stop Children What's That Sound"; Warren had sung along) was that the President had ordered all flights grounded. Maybe he could charter a flight from a pilot desperate enough for Warren's last one hundred dollars...

Warren sighed, a road sign advising him of an Exit coming up. A city called Monroe. Warren got off the highway easy enough (luckily the slope next to the Exit ramp was suitable enough to drive on; five or six car pile up on the pavement itself) and he slowly drove up the road of the first real new ghost town in the great lakes. Warren pulled into the parking lot of an A&P, looking warily around for any zombies...or any living being, for that matter. At this point, Warren would have even settled for a stray dog.

He parked, and approached the electronic sliding glass doors. The doors obediently whirled open, saving him from breaking and entering. Warren cautiously surveyed what looked like the sight of a bomb-explosion. As he instinctively grabbed a shopping cart and pushed his way through the store Warren found entire aisles pushed down, and literal mountains of food boxes and items on the floor. The lights and heat were still running, but the PA system seemed to be down.

"If this was looted, why didn't they take everything?" Warren asked aloud as he lugged two 1.5-gallon jugs of water into the cart.

"Distraction of some sort?" he asked; this time putting several bags of potato chips in the cart.

"Zombies?" he quickly surveyed his surroundings again after he put some thirty Lunchables into the cart; heartened that the refrigeration units were still working.

"Mass riot?" he loaded up packs and packs of instant noodles.

"Panic?" Warren always talks to himself, it is not just loneliness or the stress of the situation getting to him.

"Government rounded them up into shelters?" but it isn't helping much, either.

Warren proceeded to the check out, mentally trying to quickly total up what he'd just bought. It took him about three minutes, but some $43.57 found its way to one of the only remaining check out counters that wasn't buried under shopping baskets, carts, magazines, or other garbage. Warren excused the phantom bagboy from bagging his groceries as he pushed the cart out. He took one look back at the A&P's interior, so normal but yet so trashed at the same time. Warren grimaced sadly, wheeling the cart out the door, singing "Stop Children What's That Sound" for the fifth time that day.

Warren took the time to unload the three trash bags full of refuse he had stowed in the backseat, putting the groceries carefully in two Coleman ice coolers. Warren got back into the Challenger, started it up, and proceeded around the shopping center to throw the three garbage bags into one of the many dumpster. After that was done, Warren looked at the sky, and down to his watch. 5:50PM, the world around him was starting to dim. "Better get back on the road before Tsunami gives you a shove...though the Goddess is probably occupied," he thought back to the passing sickness from Sandusky. It felt like it came out of nowhere...like an angry god had briefly struck him with vomiting and extreme weakness, and then just as suddenly took it back. Warren knew enough about his own body and health that he honestly should not have been ill. The incident bothered him...perhaps more so than almost anything else that had happened to him in the past few days. Add to all this that he still felt vaguely wasted, several hours later. Warren sighed, and turned back to his car.

It hit him then, the slight glimmer of presence in the back of his mind. He thought it had been back to normal since after he vomited, but it seemed that it had only been dulled, and not back at full strength. Now it seemed his full awareness was coming back to him. Warren felt his lower back chill and tingle as he turned to the vacant, steep slope of yellowed grass that lay between the rear of the A&P and a retention pond; beyond lay a subdivision of duplexes.

"Yeah, Warren, it would be you who mistook a beacon for a full radar," he took about twenty steps over to the guardrail, and realized that he had just walked into the most serious blunder of his life.

Down there, walking up the small hill towards him quite well, were fifty zombies looking right up at him.

A sound escaped Warren's lips not unlike a hiss as he backed up on his feet half the distance to his car before turning on his heel and soon reaching the driver's side door. He got behind the wheel just in time to see about twenty zombies coming around the corner of the building, he looked to the rear of the Challenger to see about thirty members of the undead fast approaching his bumper.

"All right, you've really fuckin' stepped in it this time," he told himself as he reached back behind the driver's side seat, his hand coming back with the Ithaca shotgun in it. Instinctively, Warren reached inside his jacket to find the handgun and magazines he had (having since upgraded from the Saturday Night Special a few towns ago), his other hand felt for the extra shotgun shells in his trousers. Warren sprang out from the car, raising the shotgun's shortened barrel above the driver's side door and discharged two shots, hitting his targets right in the middle of their foreheads; blood and brains splattering out against the white cinder blocks of the A&P.

Warren reloaded the shotgun, and shot another two zombies that were crawling over the guardrail. He reloaded again, aiming the handgun as he used the top of the car door to steady the barrel of the shotgun as he shot. More blood, entrails, and brains hit the wall and asphalt as seventeen more zombies went down (two for the shotgun, fifteen for the handgun) with even more seeming to pour around the corners of the building, in front and behind.

"Almost like they're coming out of the walls...or the ground," Warren grunted as he reloaded yet again. Only fourteen this time, three shots ricocheted off the building. The scent of stale flesh and blood filled the air and coated the asphalt, dumpsters, and cinder blocks. Much to Warren's annoyance, small splashes of blood were beginning to form on the fresh blue paint job he had shelled out $125 for the previous spring.

He sat back down in the car in a flash, grabbing the last of the shotgun shells and the handgun magazines, standing up, and spreading them on the seat where his hindquarters had been. Sixty-five, he thought, make it count.

When Warren was down to thirty, he made sure the gladius was at arm's length. At twenty, he noticed that a bead of sweat was forming on his chin. Once he felt that, he immediately became aware of his entire body seeming to be soaked in perspiration. Warren took a quick survey when he was down to seventeen; his last two shotgun shells and the last magazine in the handgun.

Warren aimed both firearms at the nearest batch of zombies; the logical portions of his consciousness telling him that he'll be out of ammo with over a hundred zombies to spare. Maybe more.

"Tsunami, please guide my bullets to their targets!" he prayed, then discharged the handgun's entire magazine in one fluid sweep of an entire platoon of zombies. Black asphalt became red now. Even if he hopped back into the car and plowed forward, there was only so far he could go. The hopelessness of escaping this situation without a drastic feat became clear to Warren as he tossed the handgun back into the car. He had one shotgun shell left, and he sensed a zombie at the rear bumper of the Challenger. Warren spun around, brought the Ithaca's barrel to bare on the head of the zombie; which was once a teenage girl around fifteen years old (with pigtails too, odd for a girl her age); advanced two solid steps to insure he would not miss and fired.

Oddly enough, the zombie's head didn't explode, and the shot didn't go completely through the skull. The zombie merely crumpled against the trunk of the car, forehead spouting blood, and falling to the pavement. Warren spun back around, finding another zombie with a hand on the driver's side door. Now totally out of ammo, Warren dropped the shotgun and drop-kicked the undead female as hard as he could; tearing the head clean off the neck and further coating himself in putrid blood.

Warren lunged for the gladius in the driver's side seat, unsheathed it and started to hack and slash away at the heads of the zombies.

"Why," he cleaved a head in two like a mottled gray watermelon.

"...does..." he decapitated another cleanly, his entire arm now was red.

"this," he chopped off a grasping forearm first, then stabbed it through the ears as it turned its head in profile for a half-second.

"...always," he brought the blade through a head like a pickaxe before retracting it back through the neck.

"happen," straight into the chin, totally destroying the jaw along with teeth chattering to the ground satisfyingly.

"to," he slashed through two zombies' heads of equal enough height. The alley behind the A&P seemed to be overflowing with blood and decaying body parts now. Like it oozes out of the pores in the concrete and asphalt.

"me?" a zombie was between him and his car now; from the press of the other zombies around him (their near silent moans were about to make Warren scream), he knew that he was running out of options. He casted the gladius expertly into the cranium of the zombie closest to his car. Warren now stood about three yards away from the door to the Challenger, his body caked three times over in sweat, blood, and other assorted parts of human anatomy as in the space of three-quarters of a second various emotions and decisions warred within him like insolent generals on a vanity campaign.

First and foremost, Warren knew there was no way he was going to get out of this one without using the powers Tsunami gave to him as a Knight of hers' and Jurai. Second, he knew using said powers would send up a flashing big Jurai Power sign, preferably neon, saying Hey There! Warren Hudson is right here behind the A&P in Monroe, Michigan off US 75! One Night Only! Third, it had been decades since Warren had utilized Jurai power in any thing resembling a combat situation. Fourth, he was still carrying with him reproach at himself for allowing himself to be so lax as to be caught dumping his garbage in the first place. "Prince Yosho would have me under a waterfall for an entire day for that one!" he groaned.

Warren relaxed his battle-stance, arms at his side as he closed his eyes and bowed his head. His breathing slowed, and the zombies continued to approach him. They closed to within about a hands-breadth from him before a blue-green column of light seem to start in Warren's chest. The blue-green column immediately spread outward like a corona searing the zombies in the immediately vicinity around him to dust, leaving Warren standing in the middle of the over one hundred zombie column wearing the brown battle gear of a Knight of Jurai. Black wedged war paint on his face as his hand extended out from him, a few sparks of blue-green light appearing in his open right hand palm. The battle gear felt natural, like it had not been forty years since he stood in his proper armor.

He made a cone with the palm of his right hand as the sparks of blue-green resolved into first a sword hilt, and then a sword of matching blue-green light. Warren plowed through twelve zombies in the first second, and took out another ten with a focused power blast from one of his fists. Every zombie tried to grab for him, but he simply out maneuvered their rotting hands and chomping teeth and then dealt them a swift end courtesy of the Space Tree Funaho and the almighty herself, Tsunami.

Within nineteen seconds, it was all over, with the entire back of the building looking like a Jackson Pollock painting that might have been entitled "Discovering Red." Warren also, despite his Jurain battle armor being immaculately clean upon his calling upon his powers, was now again caked with blood. He stood for a minute, surveying the damage wrought by his hands and collecting himself. Sweat stood out on his brow, and his heart rate was slightly above normal, but above all that was a satisfied and exultant grin. Mentally he thanked Tsunami, and the bands of power were briefly around him again. Almost immediately, he stood in his ordinary white shirt, green trousers and work boots again.

All in all, he felt pretty damn good. In control for the first time in years, he smiled.

Warren made a beeline for his vehicle after retrieving the gladius and quickly shoving aside the two still-hot firearms along with the gladius' sheath from the driver's side seat. He started up the car, revved the engine, and almost drove off with the driver's side door open. He closed it and drove as fast as he dared in the alley. He rounded a corner and slammed the breaks to a halt, the tires skidding on the pavement for a few inches. Ahead of him wasn't another column of zombies, and this for a moment made Warren grin and his heart sing.

...but then, he realized that the one hundred or so US Army soldiers standing in his way, weapons drawn, were potentially more troublesome than a thousand zombies.

"Get out of the car!" a captain on a bullhorn sitting in a Jeep called out.

Warren exhaled a ragged breath, if he was almost screwed before, he was screwed ten times ten now. For a moment he hesitated.

"If you don't comply," the caption continued, "we'll open fire!"

Warren Hudson sighed, closing his eyes. "Please Tsunami...forgive me..."

"You've got to the count of three," the captain began, "three...two..."

The driver's side of the Challenger opened; it's driver slowly extending both hands above his head as he rose to his feet.

Warren frowned, indecision pulling his lips down. What am I going to do? he had enough sense to only think this, I can't just get out of this one.

"Step away from the vehicle," the captain demanded; about ten soldiers were slowly advancing towards him.

Warren kept his hands above his head, and stepped away about three yards. He stood, waiting for the inevitable order to kiss the ground in front of him. It never came. The soldier's stopped, and seemed to be waiting some twenty feet in front of him. Warren sighed, willing the knot in his stomach to relax. He drew a couple deep breaths, and gathered a good amount of courage.

"Look, can't we talk about this?" he began hopefully. He had to try to get out of this. He had to! The only reason Warren could think of them being assembled here was that they had been watching from a distance...if that's true, then they probably saw him...oh no, they saw him as he truly is. Warren swallowed in a suddenly dry voice, knowing if he was right, then no bullshit explanation for his presence would do. Then what? Run? He'd be cut down in an instant, not even he could outrun all the weapons trained on him. Fight? Sure he'd win, but he'd be committing murder a hundred or so times over.

"Kiss the ground, cowboy!" the captain blared, but Warren really wasn't listening.

Murder...the word hung suspended in the bottom of his throat. Hadn't he done that in the war? No, Tsunami had said that wasn't murder. But if he tried to get out of this with his powers...there would be no choice but to mow at least ten to thirty of these soldiers down. The Jurain powers granted to a Knight might not seem like much compared to other beings in the universe...but each and every soldier arrayed in front of Warren might as well have been reeds in the water. People would die...mostly moon-faced boys hardly older than nineteen from what Warren could see. In the same uniform Warren had once worn, basically. No way around it, these young men and some young women would die by his hands and all they were doing is following orders and doing their jobs just as he was. That would be breaking Tsunami's law, wouldn't it?

Something feeling not unlike a thumbtack seemed to hit the front of his shirt. Warren looked down, and gaped when he saw a white dart, about three-inched long, one inch in circumference with a little wavy fuzzy red felt tail on it. Warren raised his eyes back to the soldiers; wide, glassy, and betrayed. Betrayed as if one of them had somehow managed to stealthily sneak up behind him and stab him with a Bowie knife. His hand went to the dart, feeling it for a second before yanking it out of his chest. Warren inspected the needle, seeing blood on it.

He glared at the soldiers, who showed absolutely no reaction. "NO! I WILL NOT ACCEPT THIS!" he shouted, throwing the needle away, his hands balled into viciously shaking fists. In response, he felt another dart, then a third. By this point, Warren was beginning to feel the tranquilizer drugs in his system amidst the accelerated adrenaline and hormones. The world around him suddenly acquired a soft fuzzy hue. Warren stood his ground, rapidly considering his options again. Same result, only it came faster and with more anger...and tears.

"No..." his throat croaked, remember all the other times drugs had been used on him. Seems things never change, only the venues and the players.

A fourth dart sunk into his chest, and everything went glassy for a moment before he furiously blinked the world back into focus. Warren cried freely now, past shames and degradations welling through him like the tranquilizers in his bloodstream. As the fifth one delivered its gleaming clear treasure into his veins everything seemed to briefly fade to another place. This place of nightmares, this musty concrete dungeon...the steel door swinging open and the Japanese soldiers coming to drag him back to that unmaintained, but innovative laboratory that doubled as a torture chamber.

Warren screamed, he took a step in his near-blind rage forward and was rewarded with darts number six and seven.

"DAMN YOU DAMN YOU ALL!" he condemned them all, but a last strand prevented him from exacting ultimate judgment on them. It was not his place. "Please...Tsunami," he rasped quieter, "grant me strength..."

Warren struggled forward even as the excessive amount of drugs made his legs turn to jelly. His arms grasped out to attack his enemies; real, imagined, unfortunate, willing, and unwilling alike. Warren tripped, sprawling a bit on the ground. The impact caused his drug-assisted recollections to fade back to reality as his eyes tried to focus on a soldier about ten feet from where he lay.

"Sergeant Wilson," the green-clad wavering blob in front of him with size twelve and a half boots called to his side, "he's still conscious."

Silence for a moment. "Jesus Christ...what the hell is he? Get the medics over here and let's get this over with, Private!"

Warren groaned, his hands clutching the pavement in front of him. He could still end it all right now, it was so simple...but he just could not do it. Crying, Warren barely took notice of the two other pairs of boots and legs arriving next to him, and their quick concoction of a horse tranquilizer in a syringe. With one last effort, Warren forced himself to turn over. He gazed up at the clear and watery sky and the wavering soldiers above him as his arms went to grab-weakly, ineffectively-at their legs. Warren never got the satisfaction of a handhold before the soldiers easily sidestepped his grasping fingers. The world began spiraling away again and he was back in that dusty concrete room in Japan in 1942 getting his first taste of biological experimentation.

"Don't put me in the dark..." his eyes went wide and his pupils dilated. The medic rolled up his sleeve as four other soldiers held down his struggling limbs. Warren practically hyperventilated struggling with the past and present and his honor as the syringe found a good vein on his arm. After the horse tranquilizers pulsed into his veins, it still took over two minutes before Warren was unconscious. Even then, he was not far from consciousness as the soldiers took him to a waiting ambulance. Another good injection of horse tranquilizer remedied that situation.

000

September 17th, 1945.

It was after Warren Hudson's recovery that Tsunami gently made her way through the landscape she had created for him during his stay inside the First Ship. A field with yellow flowers and two suns hanging lazily in the sky, just like the one Warren had grown accustomed to during his recovery. Tsunami smirked a bit, her stride slightly disturbing a higher growth of grass as she headed for a stream bisecting the field with a tree casting enticing shade all around it. The Goddess knew exactly where her current charge was. Sitting up against a rock next to the bank of the creek.

When Tsunami arrived, as she expected, Warren was sitting there crying his eyes out. When he realized he was not alone in this area of the space tree, he hurriedly tried to wipe away the tears but that seemed only to produce more. Tsunami stood there at the clearing, still in the glass looking at Warren as he turned his red face to look at her.

He said nothing, only exhaled in relief that it was she. His cheeks were red and his eyes puffy from the force of his sobs. It grieved the Goddess that even after all this time that tears still found Warren in this place she had intended for his relaxation and further healing. Tsunami smiled comfortingly, "Don't try to hide your sorrow."

Warren's eyes looked at her face, shame evident on his visage.

She drew closer, her elegantly stocking feet seeming to barely disturb the stones and short grass that made up the bank. Almost involuntarily, Warren could not keep his eyes trained on her face, and his eyes took a quick up and down look at Tsunami's body as she sat down before him.

Tsunami gracefully sat in a relaxed position with her hands folded neatly in her lap, she regarded Warren for a full minute. "I know what is making you cry, I believe it would be best if we talked about it," she said, her eyes once again compelling him to sink into those orbs of pink.

Warren breathed deeply, trying to calm himself. For a while tears threatened to crack the young man into two again. "I'm...sorry for always bawling," he shyly blushed, "I know it's not polite."

Tsunami accepted this with a smile. "You have every right to shed tears, Warren."

Warren looked down at his own hands clutching his knees. "I...it's just I still see them, and all I want to do is tear them apart," he said in a low voice, fighting to control his anger. "I can still feel what they did to me!"

She watched the rage barely quelled in him, her voice still as soft as ever. "Warren, what if I told you they were either dead or in jail?"

He looked away, focusing on the water. Slowly and coldly, "It'd still want to kill them again."

Tsunami accepted this with silence. "I understand your rage at them...all of them, Warren...but you must know that if all you wanted was vengeance, then quite easily your life would become nothing else but," she smiled, "and I do not want to see your life wasted so."

He continued looking at the water, babbling pleasantly. A gentle breeze cooled this brook, and the smell of flowers was particularly strong here. Bird song could be heard somewhere high up in the tree providing the shading. Just like Tsunami had imagined for Warren. "I," he choked, "I couldn't do anything to stop them...for three years."

Warren showed signs of crying again, so Tsunami reached out to put a comforting hand on his. The Goddess almost smiled when she detected a blush along with Warren's questing look of gratitude as his blue green eyes met her pink ones. "That is in the past now...they're gone, you're here with us now...myself and Aria."

His eyes still flared with long-suppressed hate, Warren wasn't quite ready to let go of the one driving wish, that one ambition that someday he would be the one to mete out proper justice to his captors. But as Tsunami studied this desire in him, she decided to broach a tangently related subject.

"Warren..." she began gently, "do you remember when I said to you, that despite the wrongs that have been done to you, you did not let darkness consume you?"

The man nodded in the affirmative, still upset and forgetting his fists were still clenched in shames all too fresh in his mind.

"I have watched this conflict for far too long, and it seems one of the root causes is racial prejudice," Tsunami said with obvious distaste, she regarded Warren again with a smile, "yet...you never hated your enemies because of race, did you?"

Warren thought about this for a long moment. Yes, he had wanted to kill his enemies, but strangely he only really wanted to kill the ones who were directly shooting at him, beating him, or injecting him with bizarre drugs. "I...never understood why I should hate all of them," Warren began, "when I was a boy I used to take crops to the market in the next county," it took some effort to refrain from speaking of his uncle, "...lots of different people there. They were always nice to me, and if I know one thing in my life is that the notion of white supremacy isn't all it's cracked up to be."

"Because you could tell that people of the supposed," Tsunami's voice dropped down in a level of distaste, "'master race,' according to a certain Adolf Hitler, were hardly any better than any other race, and vice versa?"

His brow furrowed in thought, "'vice versa?'"

Tsunami eyes widened almost imperceptively, a faint stammer could also be heard when she spoke again. "The reverse, essentially."

"Oh..." Warren nodded slowly, digesting this. After a moment, a thought seems to enter his mind. "How is the war going?"

"It's been over for a while," Tsunami said distractedly. "Your country and its allies won."

Warren smiled, genuinely happy at this for a moment. Tsunami allowed him to enjoy this for a few minutes, before continuing. "I'm sorry to say that your uncle is also still amongst the living," Tsunami stated simply, "but when he does die, he will face my judgment."

He gazed at her for a long moment, "what--what will you do to him?"

"Why not leave that for me, when the time comes?" she said levelly. "Trust me...your Goddess, Warren."

Warren considered this, his hands clenching almost imperceptively. Tsunami released his hand, allowing him to tap his fingers impatiently on his knees. "I wanted to fight back...but I couldn't, even when I was sixteen...I snuck away like a coward."

"Warren," Tsunami said seriously, "you know that if you had confronted him, he might have seriously injured you, or maybe even murdered you," her voice trailed off, disquieted by the possibility.

"I wanted to pay him back for every bruise and welt...everything," his voice barely seemed above a whisper, his eyes pressed closed.

"If you had, Warren...you would have never left, and likely would still be in jail," she stated, putting her hand on his shoulder. The tears came again, and Tsunami took Warren into her arms, allowing him to weep, cooing gently as she held him. For a long while Warren released his sorrow. Warren kept crying until he truly had no tears left, and Tsunami soothingly rubbed his back and shoulders, occasionally laying a gentle kiss on his forehead; showing him what true affection was. Even though Warren was still naked, she held him for all the times he needed it and no one was there for him.

000


	4. Captive Audience

Tenchi Muyo - Negative Genesis Part 1, Chapter 4. "Captive Audience" October 17th, 1995

For all Disclaimers, Acknowledgements, and other Notes please refer to the previous three chapters of this work. Sorry folks, it was getting to be too much of a bother to copy and paste and tinker with it for every chapter.

NOTE: The Adam Bolton refered to herein does NOT refer to any actual Adam Bolton in real life, living, dead, or otherwise reading this.

This chapter is dedicated to Nugar, who provided editorial assistance and was a great help.

Watch yourself Slip away Go back to sleep Lay your head down, child I won't let the boogiemen come Counting bodies like sheep To the rythym of the wardrum Pay no mind to the rabble No mind to the rabble Head down, go to sleep To the rythym of the wardrum

- A Perfect Circle "Pet."

000

Lady Ramia Juraihelm stood gazing out of the viewport of her palatial office on her fortified tree-ship. Kai-oh, the flagship of Jurai's 7th fleet, currently patrolled the outer reaches of Jurai's border with the Galactic Union. A star cluster, classified as Ornalius B, was silently twinkling and minding its own business as the much shorter lived inhabitants of the universe went about their conflicts and glories. The stars had been there for a long time, and would continue to be around a lot longer than this current...disturbance. Or so, that was the plan.

Ramia sighed as she watched the star cluster, a just read Intelligence report sitting on her desk, the fiery-haired Jurain noblewoman was not pleased with what she had just read. She shook her head, contemplating the message on the electronic note tablet and briefly running through the events that had brought her where she stood now. 

She had read the tablet after she had admonished the female lieutenant for violating dress code by not being mindful of the inner kimono of her duty uniform. Ramia smirked involuntarily, an idle thought drifting through her mind of how her admonishment would had gone if she had ordered the pretty, raven-haired blushing lieutenant in here for the dressing down session for the Lady's and another's amusement---

No, now was not the time for daydreams and flights of fancy. Ramia turned, looking back at the electronic document on her desk. It was not long, just a few pages of summarized data headed by a memo. It read:

TO: RAMIA, LADY JURAIHELM, MISTRESS OF TREE-SHIP KAI-OH FROM: OFFICE OF INSPECTOR-GENERAL OF INFORMATION INTELLIGENCE WITHIN GU TOTALLY SILENCED. SUSPECT COUP IMMINENT. ALL JURAIN SHIPS WITHIN GU SPACE HAVE BEEN ORDERED TO RETURN TO THEIR RESPECTIVE BASES AT ONCE. 

SIGNED,  
FUNAHO QUEEN JURAI

Scowling, Ramia turned back to the view port. If Queen Funaho saw fit to affix the main report with a direct, written order than it had to be something serious. No matter, Ramia was not young, and she and Kai-Oh had been all around the outer rim of Jurain space and on the frontier. She had the utmost confidence in her crew, her ship, and herself. Ramia was ready for anything.

Ramia's fist clenched, then un-clenched. She sighed, her gaze shifting slightly to the right and one of the flanking battle cruisers, the Courageous. At this time her fleet was at its full one hundred ship strength, she could shift her gaze to the left and see five troop carriers and nine assault gunboats if she so wished. She did not, her thoughts turning back to the star cluster and how she would meet the coming challenge.

'Incursion...if not full invasion, that is what the victorious faction in the Galactic Union will desire,' she nodded at her reflection, a small smile curling her lips. Her little brother, Rumiya, hated this habit, but he wasn't on Kai-oh at that time, he was (as per his big sister's orders) studying at Seto University in Jurai City. 

"He had better behave himself," Ramia spoke to the glass. Rumiya wasn't the best student, and seemed to want to spend most of his time practicing his trouble-making skills than academics. Ramia thought about Rumiya often when she was out on deployment, she had practically raised him since their parents' tragic death years earlier when she was only Rumiya's age now. Ramia worried he was not adequately preparing to enter the military and become a great warrior-noble like his mother, father, and big sister.

Ramia scowled again, turned away from the viewport and returned to her desk, pulling up the current deployment of the fleet on Kai-oh's computer. The holographic display popped into existence suspended in the air just above her desk at eye-level. This was the fifth time she had checked the deployment in the last hour, her duty shift beginning in thirty minutes and her having been awake for the past three hours.

She silently reviewed her fleet, making no new notes. They were ready. Ready for anything that would come across the border. And as Tsunami as her witness, Lady Ramia would be victorious for her family, her King, her Goddess... and most of all herself. 

Ramia stood up from her desk, her statuesque figure robed in the manner of a Jurain warrior noblewoman, her hair as red as any ruby framing her face, and several Navy medals on the front of her kimono along with her Admiral rank insignia. Her head was adorned with the key of her ship; the blue jeweled tiara of her noble house with its immaculate yellow streamers framing her hair.

She strode over to the small bathroom, and proceeded to splash some cold water on her face from the sink. The water cleansing and not disturbing the delicate blue facial battle tattoos on her face; applied by the priestess of her house on the occasion of her first duel. "This venture will make me the greatest my clan has ever seen," she told herself, and her Tree Ship's mind through her key, "there are more prestigious assignments out there for us, Shinjiro."

Shinjiro expressed his agreement with Ramia on this.

Ramia smiled, "and there's no limit to the dukedoms, earldoms, viceroyalties...planetary governorships, the stars truly are the limits."

Shinjiro cautioned Ramia to focus on the tasks at hand. Shinjiro went on to express that he feared fell involvement in recent events.

"As do I," Ramia responded as she walked out of the bathroom, gathering up her data pads and other printed reports into a type of attache case. There was a senior staff meeting this morning, and Ramia wanted all of her senior staff caught up with what Jurain Intelligence had for them. 

Shinjiro inquired about Ramia's recent sleepless nights, and oftentimes borderline nightmares.

She shrugged off the question, "I'm fine, Shinjiro... really." Ramia decided to catch a quick breakfast in her office instead of going to Kai-Oh's mess hall. She sat down in the small dining area with an inadequate wafer of Melange bread and a cup of strong coffee.

Shinjiro reminded Ramia of the latter's promise to take a vacation. Kai-oh's angel expressed concern over how Ramia was pushing herself too hard lately. 

Ramia smiled, "I promise that when this finished, and maybe when I'm Viceroy of an entire sector, we'll take a couple weeks off or so."

The angel frankly found the idea of a 'couple weeks' vacation for a Jurain noblewoman amusing. Ramia grinned back as she ate, responding to the playful prodding of the impressions in due time. "No, Shinjiro, I'm not trying to avoid talking about us."

Shinjiro indicated that Ramia had not been eating well lately too.

"Oh come off of it," Ramia sighed, exasperated, her amber eyes glinting. "My Tree's angel dotes after me worse than my mother did!" She swallowed the rest of her wafer, and took a hearty swig of her coffee. She rose from the dining facility, and turned around face to face with a man dressed in simple white robes. His hair was light blue, eyes a clear green that reminded Ramia of the seas of Jurai. Shinjiro, Kai-oh's angel, stood before Lady Ramia favoring her with a worried expression.

"My Lady," he began, "I worry for you."

Ramia shook her head, a small smile evident on her lips. "It's going to be all right, after this Galactic Union matter is dealt with."

Shinjiro smiled in response. "Please, promise me, my Lady." They stood close, but apart, as if almost afraid of who might be watching. Instead, they merely expressed their emotions for each other through their eyes.

"Tsunami says that we must beware of Lady Tokimi," Shinjiro stated, his tone becoming more ominous. 

"As always," Ramia reasoned, "does the Goddess feel the recent strange occurrences on Alonia have been instigated by the Lady?"

"Yes. In fact, the Goddess is certain of it," Shinjiro shuddered. 

Ramia thought for a moment. "It would not surprise me in the least if what's detailed in the Intelligence report on Alonia is happening in the Galactic Union right now."

"My Lady," Shinjiro's voice seemed to catch a bit, "things are beginning to unravel fast, and we must be prepared for what is going to follow. I do not think this will be just another border dispute, or garrison duty," Shinjiro's voice trailed off into melancholia.

"Don't worry, Shinjiro," she placed a hand on the angel's arm, "we'll be careful," she smiled. "We will not be defeated, by whatever our enemy is." Lady Ramia nodded confidently, standing straight and regarding Shinjiro in the pose she knew he admired her best in. "It is time for my shift, give me strength, my angel."

Shinjiro nodded, smiling radiantly in the manner he knew she always admired. He phased out, but continued to be a comforting presence in the back of Ramia's mind as he guided and protected Kai-Oh from its Tree core. Lady Ramia made sure her appearance was regal yet threatening, and made her way from her office to the bridge. She would be victorious, no matter what the enemy, no matter what the challenge may be.  
000

Colonel Thomas Crane of the United States Marine Corps, currently in command of all troops in the area south of Flint, Michigan to the borders of Indian and Ohio, stood on the other side of a one-sided mirror in the Detroit Metropolitan Airport's infirmary next to his second in command, Major Alan Stephens and their CDC representative Dr. Millard Ralse. The subject of their surveillance lay on a cot in a small concrete box of a holding cell measuring nine by twelve feet. 

"Dr. Ralse," Crane began, "give us your staff's report on our guest here," he motioned to the figure in the cot, who seemed to be struggling back to consciousness.

Ralse shifting his bulk slightly, amazement glittering in his eyes. "He is unlike anything we have ever seen or heard of before, Colonel."

Crane nodded, allowing Ralse to continue without interruption.

"It's amazing... simply amazing," Ralse seemed almost giddy, "his hormone levels are so... so accelerated I'm not remotely sure how he can even function!"

"Dr. Ralse... " Crane began, carefully holding impatience in check, "please save it for the science journals."

Stephens shifted his stance slightly, supporting his weight minutely more on the left foot than the right foot. He did not say a word.

Ralse nodded, almost feverish. "My apologies, Colonel." He began leafing through a column of white military flimsy. Not that Crane and Stephens had never seen the report before, they just wanted to see if Ralse contributed, fabricated, or otherwise modified what they had read or got reported to them by their own people.

"Age . . . indeterminate--" Ralse started from the top.

"Indeterminate?" Stephens snapped his attention from Ralse, to the subject (who was starting to wake up), and back to Ralse.

"Yes," Ralse replied, "blood and skin samples are unable to pinpoint his exact age. Though he appears to be between thirty and thirty-five years of age."

"He could easily pass for twenty-five if he didn't look like hell," Crane commented. The subject laying in the cot was covered in sweat, his orange prison garb already sticking to him. 

"From what the test results are pointing to, his tolerance for sensory stimulation and extreme environments, especially pain, hot or cold weather is literally off the scale," Ralse almost seemed to squeak the last word.

"Obviously," Stephens added dryly, "we already know about his unusual tolerance to sedatives."

"Al," Crane threw his subordinate a sideways glance, "they hit that son of a bitch with SEVEN darts, one would have knocked you or me out for six hours or so. And even then they needed to pump more into him to make him go under." Crane chuckled, shaking his head, "if that boy had been smart, he'd have played dead then nailed them when they got too close."

"Yes," Ralse nodded, flipping through a few other pages, then continued: "Chemical tolerances are unspeakably high as well. His metabolic rates are . . . quadruple that of a normal man."

Crane shook his head in dismay. "My God."

Ralse reached the last pages of the data. "His respiratory system matches the rest of his body in its adaptability to adverse conditions. It seems he only needs a fraction the amount of oxygen a normal human needs to survive," Ralse admitted, a big smile on his face. "Merciful gods!" he proclaimed.  
Both military men glanced at Ralse for a moment, surprised at the declaration, but not disagreeing with it either.

Stephens looked to Ralse. "What about that laser-light show he put on for the surveillance team?"

Ralse shuffled over to the table, where a laptop computer sat. The computer was connected to a prefab view screen; both obviously military issue, just set up. Ralse manipulated the simple computer mouse and soon the view screen's screen saver was replaced with slightly blurry time-coded surveillance tape. Various information was on both sides of the screen, and in smaller windows there was the same scene shown in thermal imaging with accompanying information.

"Here," Ralse pointed at the figure standing in the back of the A&P, surrounded by zombies. Obviously the footage was shot at quite a distance by a zoom lense, quality was beginning to suffer but it was still discernable what was happening.

Crane and Stephens could see the subject fighting the zombies around him with such agility and skill that Stephens slowly gripped the end of the conference table as he watched closely, trying to commit the entire recording to memory. To the two military men, who had read and listened to written and verbal reports about this, as well as seen still photographs, it could not prepare them to see this plainly dressed man fight with all the agility of something possessed.

"Watch closely," Ralse said appreciatively to the soldiers' collective astonishment; he had already watched the tape some twenty-six times himself. Ralse pointed to the thermal imaging and also to the unmodified image; advising both men to watch both.

The subject on the screen seemed to stop fighting, after running out of ammunition and losing that curious (but effective) antique sword he was fighting with. After pulling off some genuinely daring shows of strength (Stephens literally gasped when he saw the man dropkick a zombie's head clean off its shoulders), he seemed to have given up. To untrained eyes it would look like he was giving up, but almost immediately the soldiers saw what had been only vaguely reported to them by the soldiers that had apprehended this . . . man, if he could even be called one after what he had done.

Light seemed to appear from the man standing there. Actual, multicolored rays of light the likes of which the soldiers, and even the scientist, had never seen before. Stephens and Crane gaped, and Ralse grinned with something nearing manic glee. The thermal imaging showed absolutely no change in heat density whatsoever. The light seemed to break off and disappear as soon as it had appeared and the man's attire now completely changed from the drab blood stained clothing of a drifter to something that could only be described as radiant.

The subject, previously seeming on the brink of collapse, now stood firmer, refreshed as if newly baptized in the light that came and went just as suddenly. The man stood, his right hand going out and making a slight cone, immediately a shaft of light blinked and glowed into existence in his palm; a line of light resembling a blade. It was a sword, plain to be seen by the men. Even on the muddy recording the brightness of the colors; contrasting with the bloody reds and the white building provided a rather incongruous sight.

The man brandished the sword, and in the space of exactly nineteen seconds he performed a feat that Crane and Stephens (and the first time he saw it, Ralse) had only thought possible in the bad movies watched by those under their command. The subject (which was now completely awake and seemed to be calmly surveying his surroundings from his reclined position on the cot) looked around, seem to catch his breath for a minute, the blade dissipating into nothing before the light appearing around him again. Again, just as soon as the light had appeared, it was gone.

To Stephens almost wry amusement, the man in the video was now standing in the clothes he had been wearing before--now clean. "I'll be damned," Stephens chuckled quietly, almost feeling the urge to pinch himself or rub his eyes. 

Crane merely nodded slowly.

Ralse stopped the playback on the computer's console and stepped back, waiting a moment to reflect on the soldiers' reaction to what they had just seen.

"It seems he's someone very unusual," Crane stated as he threw a glance to Stephens. "Do we have any idea who he is, Major?"

Stephens shook his head in the negative. "We're attempting to identify him in various criminal databases... but obviously that is proving problematic at this time."

Ralse smiled. "No need, the FBI agent assigned to my team... an Agent Smith, seems to have all the relevant information."

Crane raised an eyebrow. "He does?" he asked with undisguised suspicion and disbelief.

Ralse simply nodded surely, pointing back to the subject in the holding cell, now sitting patiently on the cot, legs out, his hands folded in his lap. "Now sirs, let us watch."

As they waited for the subject to take in his new surroundings, Crane noticed a faint impression of a broad smile well hidden on Stephens' face. Something that was similar to the look on Ralse' face. Crane disliked it instantly, and feared he would soon find out why.

000

Warren Hudson sat on the cot, his legs touching the antiseptic white and gray floor. His eyes made movement within their sockets, taking a good look around at his surroundings. The room he was in (a converted small infirmary/observation room, from the looks of it) measured nine by twelve feet. At one end was a large, stainless steel door with a slide-plate at the very top around eye-level with a bigger, wider plate at the middle where they'd probably feed or sucker-punch him. There was no window in this room, and the light overhead was a bright, florescent column of tubes.

His gaze traveled along the wall and noticed various graffiti done in black marker, pen, and even pencil here and there. Such random and archetypal images as wildly exaggerated penises and vaginas and various sex acts along with such storied declarations as "ADAM BOLTON IS GAY," "LIFE SUCKS DICK," and; under that, in the same handwriting as the first, "SO DOES ADAM BOLTON."

But all this, while being noted, did not matter much to Warren at this moment. Straight ahead of him was a mirror above a sink-toilet combination. There wasn't a camera in the room, so Warren assumed that the mirror was one-way glass. Warren gazed directly into the mirror, a silly smirk on his face. After all, why does a holding cell really need a mirror anyway? Warren wondered how long he had been out, his internal body senses telling him probably no more than a day or so. Idly, Warren wondered how long those immediately on the other side of the mirror had been watching him.

He knew that he could make a real ruckus if he wanted to, but it seemed pointless. Only complete fools would think that he was just blankly staring in the mirror. Warren just had to sit tight and wait for them to make their presence known. After that, then what? Warren mentally willed himself not to think of what may or may not come next. Instead he closed his eyes and recited the calming exercises all Jurain Knights knew, and also said a silent prayer to Tsunami for courage, strength, and guidance.

Warren did not have to wait long. Only about seven minutes, actually. As Warren opened his eyes and peered out of the corner of his right eye, he was honestly disappointed in their lack of patience. 

The man who strolled in with armed escorts (who stayed outside, their steely gazes and accompanied weapons trained expertly for Warren's chest and stomach) in black suit, blond hair...and black sunglasses.

"Oh, hello," Warren acknowledged, "can't say you give a guy an opportunity to get bored around here."

The door closed behind the man in black, who casually did not acknowledge Warren's acknowledgment. In response, Warren gave the man in black's lack of acknowledgment of his initial acknowledgment no acknowledgment of its own. Warren shrugged, smirking even more as he turned to look up at the man in shades. "Nice sunglasses."

The man in black stopped about two paces in front of the cot. He carried a black stainless steel briefcase in his left hand and regarded Warren for what seemed like the first time. "You will remain silent unless responding to a question."

"Whatever you want, scooter."

The man in black shot a withering glare at him.

Warren sighed, shrugged, and remained silent.

The man in black held out the hand with the briefcase, Warren could see him depress a type of switch on the inside handle, and to Warren's amazement legs sprouted from the corners of the briefcase like a metallic insect. He watched in a fair amount of amazement as the briefcase was set down facing him. The next thing that happened amazed Warren even more.

"Any aggressive move you make will be severely punished," the shaded man stated, drawing from the holster inside his jacket a small, mean pistol.

Deciding it was worth it, Warren spoke up, "Secret Service or other more secret organization?"

The man in shades merely shot him a sharp look for a half-second before continuing to set up the metallic briefcase apparatus. The top opened at a signal from a type of small hand-held device in his palm (Warren suspected it was inside the man in black's West Point class ring) and it seemed the entire purpose of the briefcase was for a view screen. The screen was about 13 inches by 13 inches, a flat screen with very little lights or instrumentation on it.

Warren sighed inwardly, mentally preparing himself for whatever came next. The screen activated, and he was faced with a recording of himself in the alley behind the A&P in Monroe. Warren winced, but hid it, remembering his indignation at being caught and subsequently drugged. He reminded himself that he was in control now, and that he, almighty Tsunami as his witness, would get himself out of this situation.

"Now," the shaded man intoned ponderously (which elicited a flash of annoyance from Warren, which he quickly quashed) inclining his blonde, oil slicked head forward a millimeter, "perhaps we should start with who...or what you are." He pointed at the screen.

For a good thirty seconds Warren was at a loss as to what to tell him. How much did they know already? How long exactly had he been out? Could he escape from this installation? If so, how soon? Suddenly, Warren got a flash of inspiration. He tried to push it away, telling himself seriously that it would likely get his ass kicked, drugged again or worse. But, persistent as a wind in the summer night, Warren could not--no matter what gruesome consequence he could think up--resist himself.

"Maybe I'm Paul Bunyon, and my car's Babe the blue fucking ox," Warren managed to hide his inner-smirk, but he did glance quickly around his holding cell. "Speaking of which," Warren wondered out loud, "what did you do to my car anyway?"

While Warren's smart ass remark was intended primarily for his own amusement, he was genuinely pleased to see a split-second of annoyance flash across the man in black's one-note face. "We have ways of finding out," the shaded man cooly intoned.

Warren nodded. "But you already know."

The interrogator regarded Warren for a moment, "you seem rather calm," he said, clicking a button on the unseen remote; the image on the screen changed to Warren totally losing it, "for how you reacted not too long ago."

Warren sighed. "All right, since I'm wearing prison garb I gather you've found out my name is Arnold Penniman; a drifting menial laborer with less than one hundred dollars to his name."

The response of silence was so swift Warren could almost hear the air shifting around them. In fact, that's what it was. His interrogator inclined his head to the left ever so slightly, "why put up this front, Warren Hudson? It only makes you look even worse." He cocked his head up a bit. "Along with the brown roots in your black hair."

Warren inwardly fumed, it had been a while since he dyed his hair black, and he had not noticed in a mirror that his original brown hair color was starting to show through.

"Since you seem to know so much about me, why not tell me, exactly, who you are and what organization you represent," Warren narrowed his eyes; as if seeing the man's eyes behind the prescription (undoubtedly) sunglasses.

A grimace or smile flitted across the jaw of the man in black. "Indeed," the shaded man said nothing else seemingly allowing Warren to go on. Obviously hoping for a few more tasty morsals.

Warren did not take the bait. He sat in sullen silence for a few more minutes. The man in black was patient yes, but Warren detected that here was a man who, at the very least, enjoyed his work just a little too much. The shaded one seemed to need to show Warren who was the Big Shit over Warren's Little Shit. "Very well then, Mr. Hudson. My name is Agent Smith, of the Majestic 12."

Warren was ready with an acidly sarcastic 'do they call you that at home?' after Smith had said 'Agent.' Warren simply now let his gaze focus in more. No, he could not have heard that.

"Excuse me, Agent Smith, but did you just say--"

"Majestic 12, yes," Smith nodded officiously. Warren was sure Smith was going to eagerly watch the surveillance records of this meeting later. That is, if any surveillance records were going to be kept at all.

The different possible reactions that warred within Warren Hudson in that moment bordered on the absurd (laughing like a loon at Smith's declaration) to the dead sober (clamming up or stalling for time). All the while, Warren could scarcely believe that Smith didn't even seem to care about what he had just told him.

"I suppose that the requirements for brains in today's secret government organizations have gone down some. Even if the organization's name sounds like a damn fool spagetti western cowboy posse." Warren looked aimlessly at a point just above the laptop monitor.

Smith was obviously insulted, but hid it expertly. "Come now, Mr. Hudson, we both know that the world we once knew is rapidly passing into history. Besides I, at least for the moment, now work for the FBI. In the near future, who knows who I will be working for... or you, for that matter."

Warren drew his breath in slightly, "I don't know what you're talking about." Warren thought he could hazard a quick glance to the mirror, wondering if whoever was at the other side was really, truly hearing all that Smith was saying. Warren got his answer in the last place he ever expected; he glanced back down the laptop monitor, and instead of the surveillance footage from the Monroe A&P there scrolling across the screen was a line of text:

HELLO MR. HUDSON. PLEASE DO NOT ACT ALARMED. THIS WAY I CAN ASK YOU MY REAL QUESTIONS WITHOUT AROUSING TOO MUCH SUSPICION.

Smith, the 'speaking' Smith, went on about Warren's dubious identity as Arnold Penniman. Warren suddenly felt sick again. The line of text continued right before Warren would have had an open reaction.

IF YOU DON'T WANT TO GET ID'D AS A SERIAL KILLER

At that moment a new screen flashed momentarily on the monitor, a mug shot of Warren (meticulously fabricated from the looks of it) along with an arrest warrant, all the proper documentation, etc.

--ACT NORMAL.

Warren did an excellent job, his gaze flickering occasionally back and forth between the monitor and Smith's smug expression. Smith continued with a perfectly convincing song and dance for those watching.

"...clearly, in these troubled times a drifter such as yourself traveling in a restrictive area does not leave the right impression..."

On the screen:

DO NOT FRET, MR. HUDSON, AND DON'T WORRY ABOUT ANSWERING MY QUESTIONS. THAT WILL COME IN TIME. FER NOW, JUST MEDITATE ON THEM.

Warren racked his brains in order to come up with a verbal answer to one of Smith's cover questions. "I only was trying to reach safety, Agent Smith..." Warren's eyes cast down.

Warren's lips quirked. "Agent Smith?" He had an idea.

"Yes?" the shaded blonde asked impatiently.

"There's a spelling mistake here," Warren pointed at the display, right at 'FER NOW.' He looked right up at Smith, saying no more. 'Let him chew on that,' he thought defiantly.

Smith digested this action for a brief moment longer than he normally would. Warren could sense extreme agitation at him from Smith, but also from Smith at his own actions. For Smith could not challenge or comment on this 'spelling mistake' without tipping off Crane's people about the real text on the laptop screen directed away from their vantage point at the other side of the one-way mirror. 

Smith mentally scowled. Warren's action was cunning, but also a daring gamble on his part that Crane and company were not being fed a fake feed of the surveillance footage of Warren in Monroe that Smith was presumably still showing to Warren. Now he would have to somehow explain this, if he was asked. A small nod was all Warren got as an acknowledgement of his sly trick from Smith. 

"Indeed," Agent Smith clicked on the remote in his palm again; the screen changed to mug shots of people Warren had seen before, and not seen before. His alleged 'running buddies,' Warren surmised briefly, a few beads of cold sweat were beginning to form on his upper back.

IN ANSWER TO ONE OF YOUR UNDOUBTED QUESTIONS...YES, I DO UNDERSTAND THE NEED FOR PEOPLE LIKE US TO KEEP SECRETS.

'Just when you think things can't get any worse.' Warren sighed, reciting calming exercises silently.

Smith smiled even more officiously as they continued their song and dance of mutual covering up of true intentions; though Warren was at a distinct disadvantage. The thought almost made Warren's lips crack up in a slight smile. In fact, Warren had to make an effort to keep his facial expressions as normal as possible. It seemed so likely that he would either erupt in geysers of hysterical laughter or just go into a berserk rage.

I WILL GO THROUGH THIS ONE BY ONE FOR YOU, MR. HUDSON. ONE. YOUR CAR AND 'PERSONAL POSSESSIONS,' SUCH AS THEY ARE, HAVE BEEN IMPOUNDED.

Warren conceded this fact.

TWO. WE KNOW WHERE YOU ARE TRYING TO GO.

Warren felt his fists clinch together in his lap ever so slightly.

Smith smiled.

THREE. WE ARE NOT GOING TO ALLOW YOU TO GET THERE.

Eyes closed, almost instinctively, Warren's defenses slipped and he whispered. "Please Tsunami, no...."

Smith stopped speaking about a militia organization that Warren was apparently suspected of having a connection to. "What is Tsunami, Mr. Hudson?"

Gulping, Hudson stared straight ahead at the mirror, knowing he was now in deep shit and that it was now only worse because of his lack of self-control.

FOUR. WE'LL CONTINUE THIS LATER, WHEN YOU'LL BE ABLE TO ANSWER PROPER QUESTIONS...

Warren looked back up at Smith, who was smiling again. This time, however, Smith dipped his head a bit in an almost pitying gesture to Warren's weakness. For a millisecond, Warren could see Smith's left eye; its grey iris winking back at him. Warren sprang to his feet and took one solid swing at Smith's nose; belting him square in the nostrils and sending him crashing against the opposite wall. Warren smiled, feeling better, even though he held back his full strength significantly. He stayed standing in the spot he was as he watched Smith crash against the wall, and regain his footing as he glared back at him.

The door slid open. Warren barely had time to get in a defensive stance as the two bodyguards fired two shots a piece. He tried to dodge them, but was only partly successful. The darts hit Warren in his upper right arm and his upper right hip; missing his chest and stomach which was where the bodyguards were aiming at. He was asleep before he slumped back on the cot behind him. 

"You're good," Smith said looking down at the unconcious man. "No doubt about that, Mr. Hudson."

Smith straightened his suit, relieved that the newest mixture of sedatives had worked. He gingerly produced a red cloth handkerchief and began to daub his broken nose. Smith waited with the two members of his personal guard detail for the nominal MPs to come crashing in along with Dr. Ralse, Crane, and Stephens. Smith mentally ran down what would happen to Warren Hudson, alias Arnold Penniman, alias Walter Canton, a.k.a. Raymond Jackson. After Hudson was securely strapped into the cot and checked out by the doctors, Smith would give the signal for his boys to move in, tell the military folks to relax, and Hudson would be moved to a secure location for more... intense interrogation away from the eyes and ears of the military. 

Smith faced the open door where his guards still had their weapons pointed at where Warren Hudson was sprawled out on the cot. He contemplated what he would tell Crane, since Ralse and Stephens were nothing to worry about.

000

September 17th, 1945.

Eventually, the tears and pain were too much for him and Warren fell asleep in Tsunami's arms, his frame draped across her lap. Tsunami smiled down at him, smoothing his hair, gently willing any bad dreams away as she gazed out at the creek, enjoying the soft breeze. After a few hours Warren awoke, feeling a little bit better. He groggily opened his eyes, tasting the dryness in his mouth and Tsunami looking down at him upside down. "Why hello, sleepyhead." She smiled.

Warren's eyes slowly focused on where he was laying, and the Goddess' radiant smile above him. He could not help but to smile in return. "Did I fall asleep?"

"Yes," she answered.

"You held me..."

"Of course I did, Warren," Tsunami's expression became serious, "I was not about to leave you when you needed me."

"....tha-thank you, Goddess," Warren stammered slowly, still getting a feel for the word.

Tsunami smiled radiantly at him this time, pleased that he not only spoke the words, but accepted them as well. "You are welcome."

He seemed to be forming another question. From the feel of it, Tsunami noted, it was a rather large question. 

"You...you are my creator...?" Warren whispered in wonder.

"I am," she nodded simply.

Warren nodded slowly, obviously working up the courage to continue. A few moments passed while his fists clenched, and he seemed to search for the right key to this question all around them. Bird song wafted around them, and another breeze rolled through the little hidden place under the tree, bringing the scent of flowers and caressing her luxurious hair. 

Tsunami smiled, waiting patiently for her charge.

"I--I wish to repay your kindness to me!" he blushed sharply.

She blinked, "Warren, no you don't have to. As soon as you are healed, I will set you back down on Earth." A hidden hope spoke in Tsunami's words and face, but for what choice Warren did not know or care at this point. 

Gratitude shown brightly in the young man's eyes. "No, you saved my life and healed me. I owe you that many times over."

Tsunami seemed to grow a bit worried and apprehensive. "Warren, you do not know what you are asking."

Warren only nodded confidently. "Yes, I do. When my country called, I volunteered. Hell, I even lied to do so," his gaze flickered down, "and I was escaping my Uncle but I heeded my nation's call."

The Goddess nodded. "For which I am very grateful but you've done enough already."

Tears now threatened to stream from his eyes again. "But I can't just not repay you."

She enfolded him in her arms again. "Yes, please, you earned the gift. You can have a normal, happy life like you always wanted."

Warren gazed up into her eyes. "I wish to enlist with you, Goddess."

Tsunami seemed shocked to silence and elated beyond belief at the same time. It even took her a few moments to find words to respond. "Warren, Warren, you do not know what you ask. The trials you must undergo and the trails you must tread are long and arduous for those who serve me."

"I will do anything to assist you, Goddess," Warren pleaded, "just say it, please.'

She shut her eyes, as if trying to block this offer out. Inwardly, a debate seemed to rage.

"Goddess?" Warren whispered.

"Warren," she whispered back, opening her eyes to mere slits, "there is a way to help me, but it will mean long, long years of toil from you in the Great Labor against the Dark One."

"What is this 'Great Labor'?" Warren asked, still showing every sign of readily signing up. All Tsunami needed to do was produce a contract or point in the direction of a recruiting office and Warren would be off and running. Probably marching and singing, too.

Apparently sensing this intention in him, Tsunami winced; remembering. Silently, she resolved herself to present the facts of the situation as accurately as possible. "Have you thought about evil, Warren?"

Warren almost gawked and answered "what?" but he was determined enough (and observant enough) to not slip up. "Yeah, I have thought about it... a lot."

Her eyes opened fully now, and the pink orbs seemed to drown into his. Warren could just about see his own reflection in them. "What have you found out?"

"It seems to never die. And we are all at risk."

She nodded, giving the impression she knew all too well about what she had just asked. She reached into her kimono, producing a book that Warren wondered how exactly she had secreted it upon her person; it was a very thick volume by the looks of it. She handed the ornate book to him. "Warren, if you are serious about service to me, then you must read this book."

Warren held the volume in his hands. It truly felt as old as time itself. He opened the latches and the cover. "I have translated the words into your language," Tsunami said amid a flicker of a smile.

The book was the story of creation in a way that Warren had never dreamed it could have been. The story of the three sisters, and the universe they shaped and crafted. Also the story of Tsunami and her husband, Kami. The story of their love, and much to Warren's blushes, of their craft of lovemaking. And later, the joys of childbearing and rearing. Her sisters Washu and Tokimi, and their reactions to this were also told. Washu's reluctant, but eventual enthusiastic acceptance, to Tokimi's smoldering jealousy and well-concealed hatred of what Tsunami and Kami were able to create and she unable to do on her own. 

And the ships. 

The ships of living trees and light, the first organic life in the universe, one for each sister: The Ship of the Beginning for Tsunami, The Ship of the Order for Washu, and the Ship of Justice for Tokimi. There was love, there was joy, and there was life as each ship traversed the void. Soon, stars, planets, and other things Warren did not have a name for filled the story. Warren poured over all these details, under Tsunami's tutelage for what seemed like hours perhaps days. Finally, he was about to turn the well-worn cloth page when Tsunami's two-ringed fingers stayed his hand. 

He looked up, "Halt and take heed of what I am about to tell you," her eyes were pained, and they silenced him as the Goddess prepared herself.

Tsunami gazed off into the distance of her domain for a long moment. "I should have seen it, but I was blinded by my own happiness." Her fingers slowly formed into fists on her lap. "By the time my second son, Anir, was growing into maturity, my sister Tokimi had irrevocably fallen in love with him." A sad smile formed across her lips in remembrance. "My first son grew into a man and married Washu; they had a daughter named Sari."

Warren found his hand taking hold of Tsunami's, showing his support for his Goddess. She smiled at him again. That kind, almost familial--but not quite--smile that always calmed him and made him feel more real.

"Anir and Sari were to marry," a tear fell from Tsunami's eye, "Tokimi, one day, confessed her love for Anir." This part was obviously very hard for the Goddess to recall. "Anir was flattered and was very kind and understanding to his Auntie Tokimi, but he told her that he honestly did not feel that way about her."

It was another long moment of silent tears and reflection before Tsunami could continue. Warren held her hand all along. "All-" she began, but had to stop and swallow before continuing. All of Tokimi's jealousy and deception came to a head." She wept for a bit against him. It took her several moments to compose herself enough to blurt, "She murdered my baby Anri. Then she sought vengeance on my Kami and another one of my daughters, Kamiri. They were in the wrong place at the wrong time. They tried to defend themselves, but Tokimi slew them too."

Warren's face seemed as impassive as stone, not quite believing what he had just heard. His eyes flickered down, they stayed there long enough to see the tears collect on Tsunami's and his joined hands. The tears felt like his own.

"Tokimi," Tsunami went on valiantly, giving words to pain long since buried, but carried always, "quite cleverly covered up their murders as accidents of the weather on the new planet we had just created for our children who grew restless on the Ships of the Beginning. But Washu was watching her during this 'cover-up.'" She wiped her eyes, trying to regain some composure.

"She was?" Warren asked gently.

"Yes," Tsunami nodded, "and Tokimi begged her sister not to tell anyone, that it really was an accident, that she had lost her temper, that she had been provoked, every lie that came to Tokimi's mind she tried to use to sway Washu."

She stopped, and Warren cautiously gave his Goddess a hug of support. He thought on this it was similar to the stories he had heard in the Bible, or read in other books in the library during his youth. He didn't want to speak, Warren still felt he had no right to, but eventually he did ask. "What happened next?"

"Washu refused, and informed me of the truth in the midst of my grief at feeling my husband and babes slew. It was that same connection, the one Tokimi with all her power could not detect, the connection between mother, father, and child that allowed us to know the truth. Tokimi never understood this, and she envied it. She desired that love for herself but every time she tried to create a man or find one to love her, Tokimi wished to be in absolute control of everything at all times. She would not allow them free will. And so her creations were no more than dolls, and the others rejected her." She was able to speak clearly, without halting, but the tears still fell. Tsunami's eyes were red now.

He could not find a single word to comfort her. He could only hold her.

"I made a mistake, pure and simple," Tsunami stated. "I was blind to the signs of Tokimi's developing and deepening evil. I could have stopped it if I was not so enamored with my own happiness." Her eyes seemed to dim a bit, a look that struck Warren with a feeling of bewilderment then it hit him, he was seeing the first look of hopelessness he had ever seen in Tsunami before. "I failed my sister," she whispered.

"You couldn't have known, she hid so much from what I've read." Warren felt his mouth forming words faster than his brain could quite deliberate on them. "It wasn't your fault, she was the one who killed them."

Tsunami's eyes began to climb back from that pit of hopelessness that had previously seemed so foreign to her disposition. "Thank you, Warren but it is difficult to tell myself that...."

"Well I'm telling you!" Warren was feeling tears pour from his eyes again, "it ain't your fault!"

She hugged him back, genuinely appreciating his warmth and contact in this moment. "You are so kind. I am so fortunate to have you, Warren." She smiled, resting her head against his shoulder.

Warren could only blush.

They were like that for a while, enjoying the feel of the sun, the breeze, and the sounds of the creek. But Tsunami was not finished yet.

"When Washu and I," Tsunami continued, "confronted Tokimi she resisted violently. We fought back."

Warren felt like his entire spinal column was a gigantic icicle. "Did you kill your sister?" He instantly hated himself for asking this question.

"We considered that once we had subdued our sister. But we could not do it."

Somehow that made Warren feel better. Tsunami continued. "There was a dimension that Tokimi had created, one of her few 'successful' creations. A black void of possibility; for good or ill, but totally separate from this universe. It came into use, after all. Washu and I sealed our sister there," she said, sobbed again and Warren was there with her through all of it, "in that dimension of her making, for all time."

Tsunami wiped her eyes. "Later, when we needed a place for the wicked and damned souls we sent them there as well. Thus, it is the realm of shadow; where Tokimi is Mistress over all she dominates."

And so, that was the story Tsunami told Warren. The story of the beginning and the end of the beginning. "Warren," Tsunami told him seriously, "while we were successful in sealing Tokimi away for the most part, what began as a mere flicker over eternity there has been some of my sister's darkness slowly trying to rebuild itself outside of her realm, a corrupting influence that is the Dark One I spoke of." Her pink eyes seemed to pull him right in. "The Great Labor is the preparation and the battle to prevent Tokimi my sister, the Dark Lady from what she desires."

"What does she desire?" Warren asked.

"From her past actions, and her covert actions over millenia, my angels and I suspect total conquest," Tsunami stated evenly. She then pulled a very old, charred piece of cloth from her kimono. Warren looked closely at it. The writing was at first in a script he did not understand. "Let me allow you to read it, Warren." The script changed to English; it read: "THE WHORES OF LIGHT SHALL PERISH AND THE DARK SHALL REIGN!"

For another long moment they were silent, Warren slowly comprehending what was, basically, preparation for another war against evil.

"Warren," Tsunami told him softly, "if you reconsider or wish to serve me in some other way, I will understand."

"No. I'm a Marine, and we can stand anything," he stated with absolute resolve.

A soft, almost sad smile stole over Tsunami's countenance. "You will be more, Warren. A Knight of my order, and a defender of Jurai and Earth."

And Warren could only nod, the moment even more surreal than anything preceding it.

"The waters await Warren Hudson," a voice behind them stated. Tsunami looked up, smiling. Warren spun around, surprised to hear Aria's voice.

"Aria," Warren smiled, "we didn't hear you."

Tsunami chuckled. Aria did too.

"Um, what's so funny?" he asked.

"Oh, nothing," Tsunami said innocently. 

"Your last comment, Warren," Aria smiled, "think about it."

"Um...yeah, I see what you mean." Warren blushed. Mentally he chided himself that Tsunami could probably hear much more than he could.

"Come, Warren," Aria held out her hand for him. "It is time."

Somehow Warren knew. He knew that pledging his service to Tsunami would entail something like this. "What's going to happen?" he asked calmly.

"Your baptism into the Church of Tsunami and your assuming the title of Sir Hudson, Knight of Jurai." Aria said with great reverence, but with just a hint of fun and blush to her cheeks. "I feel so silly saying that." She chuckled.

"Hmm, perhaps I should change it." Tsunami thought out loud.

"It sounds just fine to me." Warren smiled at both of them.

"Why thank you, Warren." Aria gave a short bow. "Are you ready?"

He stood, still smiling. "I am ready." He saluted Aria and Tsunami.

The two women chuckled again.

"Go with Aria, Warren. I will see you shortly," Tsunami said.

Slowly, butterflies in his stomach like the day he escaped from his Uncle's farm, he stepped forward and took the hand Aria held out to him. A flash of rainbow light enveloped them, and they were gone.

Tsunami sat there watching the space they had occupied for some time after. She sat in the warm breeze of the scent of growing things. There was a small splatter of bittersweet tears on her now folded hands. 

"It is done."

000

Tenchi exited the bathroom, stretching as his mind sluggishly looked forward to trying to get a few hours sleep. Just then as his mind settled on topics of rest, he seemed to realize just how tired he was. 'A few more steps, Tenchi,' he told himself, 'just a few more steps and barring any zombie attacks you should get some sleep,' the giddiness of fatigue and fear threatened to make him chuckle, but he suppressed it as he closed his room's door, sparing a moment to blink in the brightness of his room with its lights on.

Out of habit, he automatically flicked the light switch, throwing his room into darkness with the only light being from the large circular window. Since the moon had still not come out from behind the clouds after the storm it was quite dark in Tenchi's room.

Tenchi crossed his room in fast strides, his head pivoting this way and that for any sign of movement.

"Damn," he muttered as he turned on a small lamp on his desk. No way in hell he was going to sleep in the dark tonight. His overhead light off, Tenchi lay on his bed with Tenchi-ken underneath his pillow, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the dark. Tenchi's eyes adjusted to the different light level. His room looked just the same as when his Grandfather had woke him up earlier. A place for everything and everything in its place, really. His desk was still in disarray with his half-finished school work from a few days ago, he really needed to empty out the garbage can, his closet door was still open, and Ryoko was silently sitting in the corner of said open closet.

"Ryoko?" Tenchi asked, sitting up quickly. Why was she here? Had something else happened?

"Yeah, Tenchi?" she was looking right at him from the corner of his closet. 

"Um, is something wrong?"

They both looked at each other for a moment, then laughed.

"You mean any more than usual?" Ryoko asked dryly.

"No well, yeah. No wait," Tenchi stammered, looking down at a loss for words.

"Tongue-tied, Tenchi?" Ryoko smirked.  
"A bit," he admitted sheepishly, flopping back on the bed with a loud sigh.  
"You're not going to ask me to leave, are you Tenchi?" Ryoko asked quietly.

Tenchi turned his head to see her better.

"After all," she said, "you've always told me to before."

He shook his head, "Ryoko, it's just that when I wake up and find out you were watching me all night it's just something I don't want you doing. You should be sleeping, not watching me."

"Hmm," Ryoko mulled this over, "I thought it was that trick I did with my eyes that got you mad."

Inwardly, Tenchi shuddered at the memory a bit. It honestly reminded him a bit too much of the dried and decayed mummy he first found in the cave. Tenchi could still hardly believe that form was what Ryoko once was. "Ryoko, I prefer you looking just the way you look now," he smiled.

In the shadows, Tenchi could detect a corresponding smile on Ryoko's lips. He sat up, swinging his legs around to the floor. "Why don't you come on out, Ryoko? I don't think either of us are going to get any sleep right now."

Slowly, silently, Ryoko phased out and phased back in sitting on the other side of the bed, only a couple of feet from Tenchi. He blushed, as if a part of him suddenly realized that he and Ryoko were alone, in the dark, in his room and nobody seemed to know about it. 'I bet Washu doesn't even know ' he started thinking before he realized how foolish and potentially dangerous such thoughts were in this house.

But there was silence between Tenchi and Ryoko at this time. Only the soft but still edgy breathing anyone would exhibit after having faced death, and still having to look forward to death itself.

Tenchi gazed down at his hands on his knees, unsure what to say, or if he should say anything. Ryoko sighed, her leg swinging in false easy-going casualness. She too seemed abnormally focused on her hands resting on the bed. Somewhere downstairs they could both hear some voices softly discussing something. Tenchi couldn't quite place the voices out at first, but soon his mind clicked in recognition. 

"Sounds like Ayeka, Sasami and your Grandfather are in the kitchen," Ryoko stated, almost narrating Tenchi's own thoughts for him. "I guess they got hungry." She smiled softly.

Tenchi chuckled. "Yeah, I don't think they got to eat dessert." He gazed up at the ceiling for a long moment.

"Nope," Ryoko said dryly, "I don't think they did." She looked over at his desk. "Still got that homework sitting there, huh?"

"Yeah," Tenchi sighed, "I don't think I'll be facing any deadlines in the near future."

"Don't plan on going to school anytime soon either." Ryoko examined the crevices of her nails.

"Yeah, that too." He rolled his eyes, "after all that work to catch up. It was enough to be graduating a year late already, but now..."

She was silent for a bit. "Sorry for blowing up your school, Tenchi."

"Thanks, Ryoko," he smiled, then chuckled softly. "You know, now it doesn't seem like such a big deal at all."

"I kind of got carried away there, I guess," Ryoko looked down. "It was fun though," she grinned back up at him.

Tenchi sighed. "Yeah, I remember." He looked back at his desk with its unfinished pile of homework. "Oh well, there's always the high school equivalency test." He smiled suddenly. "Or there's just trying to get into college directly. Correspondence courses, you know, and I could avoid a long commute most of the time."

He shook his head. "Though sometimes I wonder why I'm even trying to get into college."

"I wouldn't be looking at any college catalogs any time soon, my Tenchi," Ryoko sighed in turn. She gazed up at the ceiling, then out the window. The look in her eyes frightened him.

"Ryoko " Tenchi ventured, stealing a glance at the cyan-haired space pirate sitting not more than one foot from him. "Are you okay? I--I," he stammered, "I mean about what happened out there."

"Well how am I supposed to feel, Tenchi?" Ryoko mumbled as she popped her fingers, one by one.

'She's scared,' an inner voice seemed to blare at him. 'Terrified, even.' He looked at her, worried. "Ryoko, you did great out there," Tenchi did his best to sound encouraging; never minding the sudden dryness in this throat. "I think you could easily take a hundred or a thousand of those dead creeps."

She raised her elongated hand to cut in, "Tenchi, I don't need a pep talk. I said we'd face down what's going on together, and we'd win. That's what we're going to do."

"I know but this is..." He smacked the bedside beside him in frustration suddenly. Ryoko almost jumped in alarm. "Argh! I don't know what this is! Dead people coming back to life, heads and stuff still moving around after you've cut them off," he said, shaking his head as the words seemed to come in an excited torrent of dry exhaustion and fear, "bad dreams, bad feelings, and all those weird news reports!" Tenchi held his head in his hands.

Ryoko blinked. "Tenchi, what did you just say?"

Tenchi rested his hands on his knees again. "About the news reports?"

"Before that you said something about bad dreams and feelings?"

He nodded. "Yes, I've been feeling on edge for a while now."

"How long?" Ryoko's amber eyes glowed.

"Um..." He scratched the back of his head. "A week. Week and a half, I think."

"So have I." Ryoko looked down again, her admission was hardly a whisper.

"This is something more than that stomach ache, right?"

"Oh yeah," Ryoko nodded, that dry tone again. Nearly lifeless. "It's a lot more than that, Tenchi."

Tenchi breathed, feeling the wide-awake sleepiness still held at bay by terror and concern. Any worries indeed, only the glowing empathy he held for the woman beside him existed for him now. "Then what?" He hitched closer on the bed to Ryoko.

She held her hands close to her, as if feeling a chill. "Have you ever looked at a dead body before, Tenchi? Really looked?" Her eyes again peered into his, unrelentingly drawing him in and yet holding their secrets at the same time. 

Tenchi paled. "Um, I saw what you saw out there, Ryo--"

Ryoko cut him off by a shake of the head. "No, that's not what I meant. Well..." She frowned, thinking. "Maybe it is, but that's not all I meant."

He waited.

"Have you seen a dead body before?" she asked again.

"Y-yes," Tenchi gulped, looking down.

"I've seen a lot of them, Tenchi," Ryoko stated from a well of ancient, frozen knowledge. "Up close, far away only blips on one of Kagato's or Ryo-Ohki's scopes and those close enough to croak their last breath in my face," she said pensively, chewing her upper lip in thought, "I guess that's really what they mean on those damn silly animes Mihoshi watches when they call dying 'croaking.' And I have to tell you Tenchi, they were right on target. Those things we saw out there,  
Tenchi?"

"Yeah?" he nodded.

"I kept thinking.... Everything we are, I mean all of it, could be up here," she said tapping her forehead, "that's why you kill those things by taking off or pulverizing their heads into goo. As we were fighting, I tried my best to look into their eyes and see what was there. For the most part, I saw nothing just death, but there was a voice in my head--not Washu's--that kept asking me to look into their eyes. I guess to see if their eyes would plead for me to release them? Not to release them? Something... but all I saw was myself looking back."

"Yourself?" Tenchi asked.

"Yeah," Ryoko replied, "I'll tell you, Tenchi when I know more."

Somehow, Tenchi knew that there was no use asking for more from Ryoko, considering the set of her shoulders and the determined chill of her eyes. 

"You said you saw a dead body before this, Tenchi?" she asked softly.

Tenchi exhaled a trembling breath, "I saw my mother's body."

Ryoko nodded, she knew the answer already. She hitched a bit closer to where Tenchi sat on the bed. 

"It it was a day or two after she died," Tenchi spoke quickly, knowing if he did not than he would simply clam up again. "The doctors finally left and others came. I mainly hid outside or around the shrine. I couldn't get away from it." 

Ryoko watched as his fists clenched. She blinked, recalling the memory of young Tenchi crying his eyes out at the foot of her cave, his umbrella carelessly tossed aside as the boy wept; tears mixing with the snow. "Yeah I remember, Tenchi."

"You do?" he looked up at her, honestly surprised.

"I didn't just spend 700 years in there twiddling my thumbs and cheating at solitaire, did I?" a touch of Ryoko's occasional sardonic wit shone through.

"No... no I guess not." Tenchi acknowledged the bit of levity Ryoko tried to introduce with a small, sad smile. "So here I was and practically everywhere I went I saw a reminder of Mom. At the hill there were some men digging her grave. Dad was either drinking or sleeping... pictures in the shrine her clothes... all of it," he trailed off again and did not speak for a while.

Ryoko nodded slowly, scooting even closer to Tenchi. "You go on, Tenchi. I'm listening."

"Grandfather was supervising, I guess you could say," Tenchi felt the hot tears trying to overwhelm the chill, but they did not. "Some friends of his were preparing Mom."

Ryoko exhaled, not sure if she could hear this without holding Tenchi close, but not wanting him to bury this part of himself again.

"It had gotten too cold for me outside, I guess. So I had gone to where my room was in the shrine office. Really nothing more than a closet, which it is now," he sniffled. "I passed by the room... after they were done." Tenchi was picking intently at a stray piece of lint on his pants. "The door was slid open a crack, and I looked in."

"What did you see, Tenchi?" Ryoko was closer now.

"I...I saw her, all made up, dressed in her finest kimono. She looked so lifelike, like she really was just sleeping." Tenchi paused when he felt the kiss of a teardrop on his hand, then continued. "And I just stood there, I don't know how long, looking at her. Thinking, 'This is my mommy and tomorrow she'll be in the ground.' I thought about everything she had done with her hands, the meals, hugging me, holding Dad's hand. Everything she said, sang, all of it. All of it was going into the ground tomorrow. Somehow, I just could not believe in that moment all the stuff about a 'spirit' or 'soul' that Dad and Grandpa had been telling me I kept expecting her to move or something."

"Tenchi... Tenchi, it's okay," Ryoko soothed. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't even be talking like this."

Tenchi was broken out of remembrance, looking at Ryoko's concerned face, partially hidden in shadow, and realized he was crying. "No it's okay, it's just--"

"Everything," Ryoko supplied.

Tenchi nodded. "Yeah." Then again, stronger. "Yeah."

"Tenchi, I swear to you, I won't let those things get us. Not one of us," he looked up through tears at Ryoko now so close to him now. Amber met brown, and it seemed that words were no longer necessary or preferable. They trusted each other, wasn't that enough?

"Yeah, I know." His words sounded hollow because he felt a burning within him.

Ryoko smiled thinly, a soft trace of a blush there. "Well I better let you get to sleep, my dear Tenchi." She chuckled. "And I better go before Ayeka or Washu catch on." She threw in a wink there. "Good night," she blew a kiss and phased out down through his bed.

"Ryoko! Wait!" he called, but was too late. He sighed, before a smile cracked across his face. Tenchi lay back, and found it much easier to go to sleep. Much easier, he mused, after talking to Ryoko. Bad dreams did not dare assail him for the rest of the night.

000

End Chapter 4. 


	5. Momentum of Judgement

Tenchi Muyo - Negative Genesis Part 1, Chapter 5.

"Momentum of Judgement" October 17th/18th , 1995

By JockoMegane

Send any and all comments to:

Chapter 1, 2, and 3 for all the various disclaimers, acknowledgements, and notes.

For Negative-Z, who always pushes me to do better. Even when I am not sure I can.

Edited by Nugar.

000

"And when you wanted me I came to you

And when you wanted someone else

I withdrew

And when you asked for light I set myself on fire

And if I go far away I know

You'll find another slave"

Audioslave - "What You Are"

000

Somewhere out in space the Jurain third generation tree-ship Kai-Oh intercepted their first unidentified ship attempting to escape from the Galactic Union. A broken down old freighter that had to have been at least three hundred years old. The standing orders from Queen Funaho were simple. If a refugee ship is not armed for insurgency, and free of infection, it may pass with explicit orders to immediately report to the nearest base (Itirea IVB, a rather nice moon) to be properly booked and checked out. As Lady Ramia watched from Kai-Oh's bridge, and her tree angel Shinjiro mentally told her in his capacity as ship's sensors-the ship slowly coming across the border now did not respond to hails, nor did it exhibit any appreciable life signs. Ramia asked what 'appreciable' meant, exactly. Shinjiro showed her and the crew a diagram showing the basic life patterns of even the lowest life forms-the signals he was getting from the freighter seemed low, inverted, and almost perversely out of sync.

One of the younger officers on the bridge with Ramia at the time voiced the thought of a "ghost ship" from out of the mythical Sargasso section of space. Some of the other bridge crew agreed, or seemed to agree. Sensing a slight undercurrent of fear, Ramia elected to order them to put such prattle out of their minds.

Moments later, after Shinjiro easily tapped into the freighter's computer, he succeeded in activating the main viewscreen. The sight that greeted them even caused Ramia to pale visibly.

At first it looked like that the freighter used red emergency klaxons, like about two-thirds of the rest of the galaxy's space-faring peoples. But the lack of flash variance in the light level soon disproved that. The visual sensors on the freighter were covered with congealed blood. The entire bridge seemed to be splattered with blotches and puddles of blood too. Not just the standard humanoid red blood, either. Greens, yellows, and the occasional mottled blue were visible as well.

Ramia decided that she had seen enough. She ordered the transmission cut and the freighter blasted to so many particles.

Shinjiro complied.

000

As the night of October 17 turned into the 18th and the sun rose slowly around the Earth to bake the newly dead and undead alike as the living scurried to and fro, stood and fought, or otherwise cowered in the shadows; waiting for the merciful... or merciless final blow. The movements of those drafted into the Legion of Despair of Lady Tokimi spread faster and faster. As Tenchi Masaki and Ryoko Hakubi talked, a sudden movement of zombies started to run roughshod all throughout Africa. By breakfast all of the more "developed" parts of Africa would be lost. Only the bush would remain contained thanks to the heroic efforts of native tribes that developed something akin to fire-breaks where the zombies could be easily speared.

On the independent planet of Cormallen IV, the people and the government banded together and successfully held off the zombie infestation to only about half of the planet. The Cormallens did this through their perfection of fire-tipped projectile weapons. In a way redefining the old refrain "shoot bullets of fire." The Cormallen's did the best for themselves. For now and a long time to come, half of Cormallen was safe. They were also winning back an average land area of ten square kilometers a day, too.

The situation on Galidorn Prime, the seat of government for all of the Galactic Union was-to put it politely-going nowhere fast. The attempts of the Galaxy Police HQ to keep the reins on its Sector Commanders and planetary garrisons was coming unglued by the wildly divergent responses being implemented to combat the zombie threat from the bottom up. Ordinarily, this would not have been a problem, and there were elements within the central GP HQ power structure and the Galactic Union Congress that were perfectly content to let the local GP subunits to deal with the problem in their own way while they formulated the best response. This was the default policy until some Sector Commanders and planetary captains started to practice "unsound methods" of control... such as Commander Narsay's wholesale repression tactics, and it was now that long simmering nationalistic and philosophical tensions began to bubble to the surface within the Galaxy Police. By mid-morning on Jurai, both GNK and GHK TV were reporting that Captain Itsaku Honataru of the planet Brophy's GP garrison had just-in total consent and collusion with the planetary legislature-seceded from the Galactic Union.

By the afternoon, the factional split within the Galactic Union was plain to be seen as Narsay headed up the Dorschester Convention League; a group of GP officers dedicated to the expansion of Galaxy Police power, influence, and a stronger central government for the Galactic Union. Shikara Rivas, of the Independent Union front, which was formed in direct reaction to the Dorchester group, included anyone advocating strict adherence to the Galactic Union's Articles and the Galaxy Police charter. It is interesting to note that both Detective First Class Kiyone Makibi and Mihoshi Kuramitsu were personally in agreement with the Independent Union. Furthermore, a compromise group of establishment GP figures and administrators sought to bring a quick end to this internal schism as soon as possible so they may all focus on containing the zombie threat. To further confuse matters-though considering the immense size of the Galactic Union-not really, a sizable but fairly weak group of GP Sector Commanders in the region bordering the Jurain Empire felt that annexation by Jurai would be best.

This does not take into account the dozen or so planetary GP units that felt either shortchanged or outright betrayed by their Sector Commands, or those who long harbored nationalist ambitions felt that now was the time to break away while the getting seemed good...

Elsewhere, the Norfrost Confederacy dealt tolerably with the zombie threat through a simple policy some would call "slash and burn" and the Hus Empire simply hunkered down for a long, long assault. Fortunately for the Hus, they were used to that sort of thing on the galactic frontier.

Back on Jurai, efforts continued to successfully keep the zombie infestation under wraps, but King Azusa and Queen Funaho had already begun plans to gently break the news to the Jurain public. The official announcement would be, by Earth reckoning, October 19th at 1315 hours from the well of the Holy Council chambers in Jurai City.

On Earth, the entire island of Madagascar went red with only a handful of survivors. The British Government officially declared a state of extreme emergency throughout the UK and began to mobilize their entire populace against the zombies with very few snags or holdouts. All the Home Office found it had to do was repeal the ban on firearms and allowed distribution to anyone displaying half an idea how to shoot at a zombie. The BBC hastily created a public awareness campaign called "Aim for the Head!"

India soon followed suit, as well as many other governments. The UN Security Council unanimously passed a somewhat vague resolution vowing to fight the "presumably viral or other contagion that is causing outbreaks of mass hysteria and insanity" and promising international cooperation. Still, for the vast majority of people on Earth, the zombie threat was vague or otherwise undefined. Those who did know could not believe it for what their eyes told them it was, or could not get others to believe them... and still others who did believe were now zombies themselves.

000

Misao Amano was worried. It was 8:30 p.m. and her mother had not come home from work yet, or called home. She was never any later than 7:30 p.m. without calling first. The fourth-grade girl sat at the kitchen table, satchel placed carefully on the floor beside her legs, arms folded neatly in front of her.

'Where can she be?' Misao tried to calm her thoughts. Today had been even more unusual than the-granted already-unusual events of the past few days. About half of her teachers were absent, and about two-thirds of the student body was as well. She had overheard some of the teachers talking about how it would have been better to just cancel school altogether. There were those news reports about quarantines and epidemics... so many disappearances too.

"Mother..." she shuddered, the first physical reaction to her mounting worry. The house was silent, almost maddeningly so. She had not dared to even turn on the TV, nor look out the window. What was the point? She could already see the last rays of sunlight disappear behind the Aoyama and Kohei houses through the kitchen window.

Misao sighed, standing up to turn on the light. She began to mentally run through what she could eat without much preparation while for the countless time in the past hour checking the digital clock on the microwave... and looking at the telephone on the wall. With another slight shudder, Misao walked over to the pantry and got a box of snacks out. Upon retrieving a bowl from the cupboard, Misao calmly filled the bowl with the snacks... an American original called Cheeze-Its. The frail girl calmly chewed on a couple of pieces, not feeling very hungry at all. Her eyes briefly flickered up, looking out of the kitchen window just above the sink, and saw a most curious sight.

There were two groups of people. One, a group of people she recognized as being her neighbors, and the other seemed to be police officers of some sort by the looks to them. They did not wear the standard uniform, for one, they wore the type of clothing that looked straight out of one of those secret agent movies. Misao cocked her eye at this; curious as it seemed the two groups of people seemed to be in a heated argument. She leaned in closer to the window, trying to remain out of sight and yet somehow pick up on what was going on.

There definitely was an argument, from the pitch of muffled voices reaching Misao and the grim, determined set of shoulders on the men and women out there. One was violently gesticulating toward the Shimozawa house and the street beyond them. Another vaguely pointed at the sky and towards the Aoyama's. The suited policewoman shook her head, agitated, loudly giving orders to Misao's neighbors (who Misao now recognized as Kauru Noako, the Noako's middle son) as both groups seem to reach some sort of shaky consensus and move on up the alleyway between Misao's house and the Kohei's house.

Misao puzzled at this as the sun's rays slowly faded from the world...she realized her hand was shaking just as the front door was loudly knocked upon. Misao jumped, yelping as she almost dropped her bowl. She stood frozen there for a moment. The knocks (more like heavy beating) thudded down the hall again. For another agonizing moment Misao was utterly at a frenzied loss as to what to do.

She heard people shouting outside her door, speaking amongst themselves. Misao could almost hear them having some conversation about her mother...

"...Wait..." she whispered, finding her voice in a dry throat. The words trembling like useless pebbles on the ground.

The muffled voices started to retreat from the front doorstep. Misao could almost see it in perfect clarity. They were walking down the front steps... looking ahead to the modest brick gate that marked the Amano family's property. They were leaving her. Leaving her alone here. Dizzily Misao's eyes seemed to careen all around the kitchen. At that moment she knew. She knew her mother was never coming back, and that this house was no longer home. If she did not leave now, she never would.

Misao ran to the door, her hands shaking but oddly controlled as she unlocked and unlatched the door, swinging it wide for whatever lay out there and ahead of her. Come what may.

000

When extreme fear and shock-ridden exhaustion ran out, and Billy Parsons had to sleep as most other people do, the slithering and clanking of chains that seemed to seep up from the basement of the Parsons family home became unbearable. Here on Partridge Street on the outskirts of Pine Bluff, Arkansas, Billy was probably the only one still in residence who resorted to chaining his entire zombiefied family to the basement floor out of mortal fear that they're only just sick, and would snap out of it soon enough. In Billy's adolescent mind, the whole world had decided to have one of those huge hissy fit times that his father, Morton (who now spent his time chewing and clawing at stainless steal chains bought on sale from Sam's Club) had grumbled about as he had his second beer of the night. When things had gone from shitty to beyond shitty, Billy had assumed things would be all right in a day or so. This was just like a strange version of the flu crossed with a more non-fatal form of rabies, he reasoned. In a day or two the thrashing and clanging would stop and he'd go down into the basement and everything would be just like before.

First the neighborhood watch group begged him, then the police threatened to take him, and then finally George Gustafsen and Timmy Rodgers came over to try and get him to join a hastily arranged "hunting party" that would defend the neighborhood at the hills and pastures just up the road. Billy declined all of them, insisting that things were fine... that his family would be back with supplies "any minute now" and that they would all join them then. Billy had never lied so much since his Kindergarten days--and this time he neither thought much on nor cared that such actions would have warranted a stern grounding and a few nice whacks on his bottom courtesy of his parents. But on this day, October 18th, Billy had not had sleep for so long those low-grade hallucinations and other mental manifestations were starting to become a danger.

It was no use. He had to figure out a way get his beloved family back to normal or else find a way to sleep with all their racket. Either way, he had to do something.

The depths of despair can only be skirted and hung off of for so long, and Billy had now slid down that mental chasm so far that he stood, petrified with fright, for what might as well have been hours on each step of the basement staircase, going down one by one, mentally chanting to God that they be all right. The infernal noises had become almost lost to him, and all he wanted to do was see his family again. Just like when his family used to smile at him when he would get good marks on his report card. As Billy's feet came to rest on the concrete landing, it became all too clear to him that things would never be the same way again.

Two hands reached out for each leg, wrapping a slackened grip around his pants-leg. Billy started, and screamed in defeat and fear as his instincts kicked in after a full second delay, and he jumped backwards back up the step... then another, and another before falling down on the fourth step, and slinking back up the stairs as he watched their formerly manacled hands reach and grapple with the wall of the basement stairwell. Billy sat there for a moment, sweating, hyperventilating and a bit of urine in his underwear.

They had broken their chains... though he had not looked, they had probably all picked the locks... boy, they must be mad at him now... Billy blinked again as their faces peeked around the corners at him and expected to see anything other than those hollow and expressionless faces from before. Anger, anything, but there was no change. Billy's ashen expression, his eyes staring into the eyes of his mother and father, was probably where he would have remained--in shock--until the zombies claimed what was theirs.

His eyes gazed into theirs', and finally found something. Laughing, a man's laughter, and those gaping mouths and mashing teeth were actually beginning to take on more and more dimensions of a grin. A smug grin.

Billy wet his lips, feeling returning to him. Yeah, that's what was there. A man staring back at him from those things his family now were. That man peered back at him from behind their eyes and just above their heads, somehow. If you did not look closely you would miss him, but Billy was looking closely. Even then, Billy had almost overlooked his presence.

Billy gulped, closing his eyes again, but he was still there. The laughter and mocking grins now had words to go with them. They burned on the inside of his eyelids: THEY'LL COME BACK...

'How?' Billy screamed inwardly.

THEY'LL COME BACK...GOOD AS NEW...

'Who are you, asshole!' He shook his head furiously from side to side. The words taking on a sing-song quality in his closed eyes.

THEY'LL COME BACK... GOOD AS NEW... IF YOU BOW DOWN...

'And what!' Billy thrashed his fists out around him, knocking them against the wall hard, scraping his knuckles and drawing a trickle of blood. 'If I suck your cock, you pervert?'

That smug laughter again; firm denial and amusement all in one.

'What do you want...?' Billy's arms hung limply at his sides now, knuckles dragging on the wooden stairs.

WORSHIP US...

Billy's eyes swung open, and the faces gazing back at him now were that of his father and mother, peering around the corner like insects climbing on the walls. Their faces melted... remolding into that of an impossibly beautiful but cold woman's face on his mother, and on his father, a much younger... disturbingly handsome face on him. They beckoned to him... they seemed to either loom larger or closer to him and all Billy knew he had to do was reach out towards them and that would be it. But... then his life would truly be a basement. Underground, shut away from the light, and it would be much darker than even this basement... a basement where a few rays of light were shining down from behind him, even though he had left the door closed behind him.

Billy Parsons turned a hard gaze back at the imposter faces on his mother and father, and bellowed in rage at them. He screamed every obscenity he had ever learned from George and Timmy and probably invented a few more as he seemed to float back to his feet and flee back up the stairs, throwing the door open, and through the living room and out the front door. Billy did not look back nor stop as he crossed the street and over the hill between Partridge and Fremont, he ran until he arrived at Tom and Betty Lorge's, where the last groups of neighbors were gathering.

000

France and Germany were fighting valiant fights; fights that had previously only been hinted at in some great epic or in some hippie's LSD trip. Vast swaths of zombie hordes ambled through the countryside as the inhabitants of the insular villages and communities along the way created a disjointed system of fire-breaks like skirmishing lines. These gave the zombies significant opposition, but as the hours and hours wore on, all the villagers were soon zombies or zombie food.

000

The sovereign asteroid Pentaxia VII--so far out on the outer rim that only the oldest and longest ranged Jurain star charts cared to even list it--was successful in total control and eradication of the zombie threat. This was rather easy to achieve as the accepted custom of almost all the people on the asteroid dictated that when death is known to be near, then ritual suicide by a simple projectile shot to the head is considered to bring good fortune to one's living kin and oneself in the next life. A watchful and alert populace easily handled other deaths. While smaller population centers were at a higher risk, if such an isolated and contained area was able to successfully control the rate of new zombie infections and zombies coming into the area, then things can be like they were before the radiation bombardment started. However, total extinction of said population center could be accomplished by just one or two zombies becoming active in a relatively short period of time. This pattern was repeated all around the universe ad nausea with about a 50/50 rate of "wins" and "losses."

000

The state of Arizona declared itself under general emergency at 2:19 p.m. on October 19th; this was soon followed by Oklahoma, Texas, Florida, New York, California, etc. If the statements by the governor of New Hampshire had been derided by the majority of "legitimate" press sources than it was becoming very difficult for the upper-brass news media to ignore what was happening away from their safe high-rise offices and what the regional bureau chiefs refused to put in their reports for fears of being fired. In New York City and Boston, for instance, bodies that had been killed in gang-related violence and hidden in secluded locations soon found themselves loose out on the streets. Of course, at first it had all been easy enough to dismiss; a few sick loonies here and there, or freaks dressed up like some goofy slasher movie fans. Then there were the employee absences, and missing friends... finally family members. By 6:25 p.m. the President had officially declared the entire country under a state of "siege" and ordered all National Guard and military units to arms. The last holdouts that were not already secretly very scared or at least disturbed were now forced to report on something that just a few days prior had been a bulletin board joke from some Associated Press jerk-offs in West Virginia.

000

The security complex at Detroit Metropolitan Airport was very well designed and staffed for the security concerns of its day. That is, mostly concerned with drug interdiction, basic airplane related security, and helping people find misplaced loved ones, etc. The facility essentially consists of a system of low-ceiling observation access ways and offices that would ring the terminals and other large areas of the airport's indoor areas and provide easy access to the outdoors, concourse, hangers, and other places of interest both mundane and crucial.

The sun had now decided to peek out of the veil of clouds, just as it was setting to the west. The orange disc cast a smooth glow of fading light across the Detroit River and the airport.

Now, in these trouble times, the security complex had just been made the US military's tri-state area command post. All forces (all military branches plus any and all law enforcement) in Michigan, Ohio, and Indiana were all carefully in contact and taking orders from this complex. Colonel Thomas Crane sighed inwardly as he picked out each new unit being put under his command on the large round computer displays set into the floor. Two weeks ago, he was looking at a nice long vacation with his family in Hawaii, but now...

Now...

"The 37th Bloomington Division reports they're engaged in heavy control and moping up operations in the Kalamazoo area," a young enlisted technician reported.

'Now this,' Crane thought as the computer graphic readouts on the screen changed from solid greens to blinking yellow to depict the change in the 37th Bloomington Division's status. 'We're not even calling it an attack.' The thought made him ill.

"Thank you, Mr. Hobbes," Crane acknowledged with a nod, "put the 22nd Dayton and 17th Indiana Air National Guard unit on alert if the 37th needs assistance."

"Aye, Sir" the enlisted man went about his appointed task.

Crane heard Stephens stride over from the elevator. Stephens' gait had an easy-going lilt. Too easy, for Crane's taste.

"Colonel Crane," Stephens saluted. Crane returned the salute and returned his attention to the screens, judging that Stephens wanted something and he would just as soon not make it easy for him.

Silence passed between the commander and his executive officer for a solid two minutes as the enlisted technicians occasionally called out a report, and otherwise controlled the cold-knuckle mundane operations of what was now known as "Operation Comic Book" by the unimaginative people buried deep inside the Pentagon.

'Christ,' Crane's eyes flickered back and forth across the command center, 'how are we going to beat these things if we can't even think up a better name?'

Stephens cleared his throat.

"A cough, Major?" Crane asked, "don't tell me the good Dr. Ralse now suspects it's a viral contagion?"

"No, not at all, Colonel," Stephens swept aside Crane's obvious slight and held his silence.

Crane had no attention of playing Stephens' little game. If it was anything of real importance, Stephens would spit it right out or Thompson or Rodriguez would have already informed him. 'Just keep playing me for the fool, you snide little prick...' Crane watched Stephens every move as he looked over a female technician's shoulder, allowing Stephens to comment aimlessly on the current troop deployments. After several simple acknowledgements and stock comments, Crane could tell that Stephens was growing ever so slightly annoyed.

"Walk with me, Major," Crane stated suddenly, striding back towards the elevator.

Stephens followed.

They took the elevator to a hallway that ran between the terminal's Customs section and the place where malcontents were detained. Once they were alone, Crane folded his arms behind his back and spun to face Stephens.

"I know what is going on here with Ralse, Smith, and that prisoner Hudson," Crane bit out viciously to an extent that successfully unnerved Stephens' normally unflappable composure, "and I assure you when I have the time to chase it up the chain-I will spend a lot of time unscrewing you."

"I see you know now, Colonel," Stephens shifted back on his feet a couple millimeters.

"I am NOT as in the dark as you obviously think I am," Crane carefully in the midst of his obvious anger removed a piece of paper that had been handed to him some twenty-five minutes ago. The yellow piece of military hard copy was official orders from the highest of the high. The blocks of text on the paper took a lot of big words and bullshit to explain one succinct point; the custody of detainee Warren Hudson was to be immediately transferred from this facility's care to that of the CDC and Dr. Ralse in conjunction with certain other sections whose proper identity could only be revealed under a "Need to Know" basis. By Crane's estimation, once he read the copy not more than half an hour ago, he was not in the loop today or under "Need to Know."

Stephens' took the flimsy and perused the document that was practically shoved in his face, confirming it was what he obviously knew it was. "With respect Colonel, orders are orders."

Crane stabbed daggers at Stephens, for a split second he considered striking Stephens, but after a few breaths and the slight balling together of his feet in his boots, Crane stepped back. Stephens carefully folded the paper and put it in his breast pocket.

"You don't know what you are doing, Major," Crane continued, much calmer but even colder.

"Oh I think I do, Colonel."

"You damn fool... you think just because you used to hang out with Ralse and his cloak and dagger pal Smith you know how to handle that prisoner?" Crane sneered and chuckled at Stephens' straight-arrow clean-cut confidence. 'Fucking brat,' he thought, 'spend some time moving up through black ops and they think they know everything.'

Stephens turned towards the opposite end of the hallway. Through a door, another corridor, and down the stairs was where the prisoner in question was being held. "Colonel, may I ask you a question?"

"Of course, you slimy son of a bitch."

Stephens smirked. "How did you find out?"

"While many poo-poo touchy-feely garbage like observation training and other psyche-headshrinker bullshit, I try to have an open mind and maintain a united front against all ways an enemy can get in," Crane stated in even, clipped words.

"So we know our personal staffs now," Stephens nodded thoughtfully.

"Just so we are straight on this, Major. I strongly protest this action by an agency I cannot even name without getting my balls smashed, I protest the way in which it was carried out, and I protest your back-stabbing ways. This will find its way through channels, though I know no one will probably read them," Crane once again took a step towards Stephens.

"Understandable, Colonel."

"I think you, Ralse, and Anderson are making a huge mistake, and possibly jeopardizing national security," Crane continued. "This Hudson prisoner is someone who needs to be under close care, surveillance, and study at the very highest levels... how else will we learn anything about him otherwise?"

"We have ways, Colonel," Stephens' eyes flashed minutely.

Crane let that hang in the air between them for a minute. "Yeah, ways usually concerned with disappearing."

Stephens shrugged. "If I didn't know better, I would say you were concerned about Mr. Hudson's welfare in general."

"You've got that right Stephens, you DON'T know better. And if being a concerned that you people are about to make a possibly fatal mistake, deprive our nation, our world of a potentially great source of knowledge," Crane's voice dropped an icy degree, "and maybe, just maybe, mistreat or otherwise 'lose' a valuable prisoner-then if that makes me a bad officer, then so be it and fuck you too!"

Crane stalked off down the hallway in the opposite direction of the airport's Security holding area.

"Oh, and Major?" Crane spoke with his back to him.

"Yes, Colonel?"

"When your Majestic 12 pals leave with the prisoner, you better make sure you're with them. I don't think Washington will care if this 'transfer' is not by the book, not these days," Crane turned the corner and was gone.

000

Warren's neck lolled on its neck as he squirmed minutely in the heavy chains of the special chair that they had brought into his cell after he took a hearty swing at Smith. The chains secured his arms behind his back while the chair itself was screwed into the ground. To Warren's well-concealed gratification, it looked like Smith would have quite a bruise for a while. The questions so far had been fairly standard, obviously innocuous to lull Warren into a false sense of security. To his surprise--and to the best of his detection--they had decided to lay off the drugs for now. Warren hoped that they were playing it safe... maybe a bit too safe. He hoped he could stall them somehow; he had very little doubt that the doctors weren't already preparing a special cocktail of truth serum just for him.

Smith himself was carefully observing something on a computer monitor set just out of his view. Smith's nose was bandaged, but Warren suspected that the injury was healing itself rather nicely. Quickly too. Smith turned back to Warren; leaned forward with a motion that Warren could swear was swishing--no, sucking air from the room somehow. "Now, Mr. Hudson, please tell me where you were from the dates of March 9th, 1942, to September 14th, 1952."

Warren opened his mouth to say something, and then clamped it shut. A humorless smile broke out on his face. "Agent Smith, you and I both know that I cannot answer that question."

"Yes... and I don't think you know that more than a few people are finding this question a rather fascinating puzzle." Smith's cleanly manicured hands seem to effortlessly indicate Warren's person before returning to the laptop computer keyboard, quickly typing again. 'Almost too fast,' Warren thought.

"In fact, Mr. Hudson," Smith's voice adjusted; different intonations now, "along with your rather unique 'skills' there are cause also now to question your loyalty to your country."

Warren's blood boiled, but he concealed it from outside notice.

"Furthermore, there are a number of files over the years that report of occurrences and occasions--nothing too significant mind you--but there's been enough. In particular a report from a Japanese prison camp located in the rural Okayama Prefecture that lists you amongst those incarcerated... and later presumed dead though no evidence was ever found." Smith swiveled the computer monitor around so Warren could see the next document; a fifty year old US military document on the POW situation in Japan. He always assumed such a document existed.

"And several years later, there are rumors circulating about a Shrine in the rural areas of the same Okayama Prefecture--"

'Oh no oh no oh no,' Warren's mind raced.

"--Of an Anglo-American looking shrine assistant. This until up to 1952, and then nothing after."

Warren locked his gaze on Smith's sunglasses; with just a bit of effort he could see his golden eyes behind that expensive tinted glass.

"But not all at once, Mr. Hudson. You may fool the local, state, and even the FBI with your aliases and other vagabond tricks, but you've still tripped a few wires in your time." Smith tapped a key, and the screen changed. This time it was a document with a signature to buy some ammunition for a firearm, a rifle from the look of it. This surprised Warren, he bought that rifle in 1976 and lost it on a hunting/training expedition in 1982. It was a good rifle, but illegal in the state of New York, which was where he bought it. Of course, he didn't know that at the time.

"Now," the screen went blank as Smith leaned closer, "I want to know everything about your life, Mr. Hudson. In particular, I want to know how you've lived so long, and why you are so god-damned special," an officious little smirk crossed Smith's lips, "because outward appearances definitely imply that you are anything but special."

"It takes one to know one, pal."

Smith actually chuckled, a dry crinkling sound that seemed a mockery of actual good humor. "That's exactly what I am talking about. You know, if you cooperated things could be very easy for you... you may even find out things you never knew about yourself before. Myself, Dr. Ralse, and many others are willing to help, Mr. Hudson."

"No thank you," Warren stated clearly.

"The usual plain, square-jaw refusal to cooperate." Smith shook his head; he leaned ever closer in his chair. To the point that Warren thought that he might stand up, but he only lowered his voice enough so that only he could hear him.

"I would like to... share a revelation I've had lately with you, Mr. Hudson" Smith smiled now, a cold mocking smile. "You know, back... oh, one or two thousand years ago, national borders and territory shifted all the time. Armies, legions, marauders and barbarians came and went, plundered, land changing hands...and the vast majority of the population simply dealt with it the best they could, and pretty accepted things as they were."

"I see you know your history."

Smith nodded. "I also know that there are times when to those of us who fight for a country must admit defeat and try to make the best out of things. Cooperate; ensure a place for us in the new world being created. Just like post-war Japan, Mr. Hudson, which you seem intimately familiar with."

Warren's teeth ground together slightly.

"I don't like to beat around the bush very often, Mr. Hudson, but if you know what is good for you... if you want a life... a life of peace and power in the new world we will find ourselves in very soon you will speak to no one but me, Dr. Ralse, and Major Stephens. Your words had better be truthful too." Smith once again checked the computer monitor, he smiled broader now. "Because you're going on a little trip."

Warren could feel the crease of his palms moisten, he wanted to shake somehow in indignant ferocity but the chains held him just so for now. "Agent Smith, I have no intention of going with you anywhere, even if you're going to show me to the door. I'd sooner crash down the walls and claw myself out than ask you for anything."

Smith breathed a long pained sigh as he stood. "You really are an imbecile, Mr. Hudson. I wonder why Dr. Ralse's superiors value your life so highly, when so much power is already at their disposal."

Warren laughed, nearly hysterically. A deep, throaty laughter dripping with derision. It was the only way he had to contain himself and also mock Smith. His eyes glared daggers up into the polished black of his sunglasses again, his mind speaking every obscenity he could dream of.

Smith didn't show much of a reaction, save a micro-quirk of his lower lip.

The lights went out then. In a split-second, the cell was bathed in weaker lighting as a dull alarm was heard out in the corridor. Soon the sounds of running and shouting could be heard through the thick wall. Smith for the first time seemed honestly surprised, perhaps even a bit scared. He looked from side to side, to the security cameras to the mirror and back to Warren.

Warren only grinned big and wide back up at him. For a moment Warren thought Smith might take a swing at him, but he only spun on his heel, called the outside guard to open the cell door, and was soon gone.

"Sonofabitch could have unlocked the chains," he continued to squirm, trying to focus on the individual microscopic points were the chain's links met each other.

000

Night had fallen.

The Detroit Metro Airport Security Center was awash in red light and shouting. Panicked voices babbled as Crane raced back and forth from station to station. What had been under control not more than fifteen minutes ago was rapidly degenerating into a siege. A great big fucking siege, at that.

The 17th Division out of Lansing was holding Howell. Or rather, camped out in various points where major interstates and roads crossed into Howell. Their mission was pacification, looter control, and evacuation of refugees, and killing as many zombies as possible. Fifteen minutes before, the 17th had failed to make their routine report. The 17th's radio beacon still functioned, and so headquarters (Detroit Metro) had continued to hail them for about five minutes more.

They finally got something. NightBird squadron of the Michigan Air National Guard politely did a close-range fly-by and used their infrared camera to capture images that had Crane break out into a fine cold sweat on the back of his neck.

Empty military jeeps, trucks, and tanks were parked in the roads. No sign of a struggle, everything seemed perfectly fine from the air...just that zombies (including some who looked uniformed) were now ambling aimlessly around the city of Howell and the surrounding area. As Crane watched this, the only meaningful piece of info that crossed his mind was that the temperature readout-47 degrees farhenheit-was colder than tonight's forecast. 'Winter's coming early,' he thought.

It took five minutes to learn that the 17th was lost. Now, five minutes later: Five more Divisions... nearly half of the active forces under Crane's command had gone silent, and Crane suspected from the cold leaden bile in his stomach that the 17th's fate would not be a solitary one.

'Goddamnit.' Crane shook his head. "Hobbes?"

"Colonel?" Lieutenant Hobbes looked up from his console.

"Take us to combat alert, issue a general call to all forces in the region to regroup here," Crane strode about the Security Center, keeping himself in motion helped his nerves and also helped him think. It also allowed him to see as many screens as possible. "All forces in the main terminal should be armed and implement plain C anti-siege mode on the double. All partrols on the tarmac are instructed--if they see someone walking all jerky and they don't immediately identify themselves-to shoot first and ask questions later!"

"Colonel Crane!" a female tech piped up, "the control tower is reporting that Patrol Squad's 4B through 4G are... missing."

Crane stopped in his tracks, for a half-second standing there looking at the tech utterly dumbfounded.

More and more alarms and radio chatter sounded throughout the background. Technicians and other members of his operations staff flittered about or pounded consoles while shouting back orders to soldiers in the field. All his boys, all fifty-thousand of them. How many of them were those things stumbling out there in the dark now? Across the overgrown fields, deserted back roads, and through the new ghost towns of the Midwest? Crane exhaled a shattering breath, "...we've gotta get out of here."

"Sir?" Hobbes, who was once again the closest officer to him, looked up from his console.

"Cancel all of my previous orders," Crane fought to keep a tremor out of his voice, "implement evacuation plan immediately."

Once again, night had fallen.

000

The chain links were solidly made, perfect in every detail and element save for the one fissure that he could sense. Ah yes, there it was. Almost small enough that not even a speck of dust could find its way in there. There were even more tiny imperfections from there in the construction, and he started to let go of all his other concerns, focusing on that tiny fissure. He gathered himself together, almost feeling that he himself was in the crack, sounding it out, and finding just the right spot to snap the whole thing wide open-

Warren's cell door burst open along with his eyes. His cell still cloaked in red gloom.

Four soldiers moved in. One pushing along what looked like a type of motorized hand-truck/fork-lift device. He could sense three other figures at the door even though the emergency lighting did not quite allow his eyes to see.

Warren peered right out at those other three. "Hello again, Agent Smith."

No reply as three soldiers took up positions behind him and to the side. Two began to unbolt the chair from the floor while the other wheeled the hand-truck around to the rear. The last one, armed with a mean looking pistol, loudly undid the safety and pointed the barrel square at Warren's temple as the others worked.

Warren was perfectly willing not to say another word. He sat still, watched, listened, and waited.

000

He was being wheeled behind the two soldiers who had unlocked the chair from the floor. Another wheeled him down the narrow hallway. Warren's ears detected the other soldier directly behind the one doing the steering as well as pushing and the two other men with Agent Smith. Warren had gotten a good look at the soldiers. They were older, some even older than Smith. They had twenty and thirty-year service bars on their uniforms. No jewelry, wedding bands, or religious symbols too.

They rode the elevator down at least six levels. Warren counted two or three sub-basement levels, too. The elevator door opened on a vast concrete pipe system that Warren judged to be the Airport's plumbing facility. The air was a bit stale, but beyond the evenly spaced overhead lamps, there was scarcely anything of note about this basement. Not even sound, really.

Warren held his sullen silence as he was wheeled for quite a distance. Warren counted about eight minutes of travel time, he suspected if he were able to look behind him he would be able to see the elevator they had exited from. At any rate, he noted, they didn't seem too concerned about him seeing where they were taking him.

That was, until, the soldier to his rear secured a black sack over his head. Then the twists and turns began. To Warren, they were mostly quick circles and trips up short steps-but there were a significant number of sub-basement levels gone up...and down...up and down again. He tried to keep track of them all.

Finally, he felt the air stagnate significantly more around him, and he felt his motion stop. The sliver of chains and the securing of heavy bolts and the chair was now a feature on another floor; the previous bare and anti-septic... this one of stone and dust. The soldiers and others around him filed away. A cold smile touched his face. He half-expected this from them.

"Agent Smith, you won't be getting rid of me so easily," he remarked matter-of-factly.

One of them, a big fat one, shifted uncomfortably. Warren judged him to be Smith's superior of some sort. 'Good,' he thought.

"Just following orders?" he sneered. "Sure, I know the drill, boys."

He heard the quick thumping of boots and an activity of great haste being undertaken around him.

Warren laughed coldly. "Fucking assholes," he evenly remarked. He settled into his chair for a long wait, letting his eyes close behind the darkness of the sack. Once again, his attention returned to the chains that bound him to the chair. That particular groove in that link held promise, he thought.

A few minutes passed.

Stephens and Ralse watched uneasily as the soldiers worked flawlessly on the task at hand. But it was still not fast enough. Not nearly fast enough, as Ralse flicked his gaze at his watch for the fourth time.

"Mr. Hudson," Smith intoned, "is there nothing that will change your mind?"

"No," Warren replied.

"Even if we are prepared to leave you here for what you fear the most?" Smith seemed bored.

Warren yawned loudly.

"I take that... as a no, Mr. Hudson?" Smith ventured.

"How about this, you let me out here-right now-give me back my car, renounce your evil ways, and let me go on my way?"

"No, Mr. Hudson, I do not think we will be doing that."

Long silence again as the soldiers neared the end of their preparations. Only a few more finishing touches, implementation, and then they could get out of there. Which suited Ralse just fine; there was only a limited time frame to get out of the area before it was overrun. Besides, this musty dungeon gave him (and probably everyone else) the creeps.

"There's nothing that can be done?" Stephens whispered, a bit frantic and surprised at the sudden turn this operation had taken. "I thought we were shipping him out."

"My orders were clear," Ralse said, "he either cooperates... or stays here."

"I'd give y'all the one-digit salute if I could guys, really I would." Warren jeered at them. Ralse glared back at him, looking pretty ridiculous chained to a chair in the middle of a empty concrete alcove just off one of the narrower corridors where the pipes threatened to even choke out the light from the lamps above.

Smith was about to snidely jeer back at Warren when the head soldier nodded to him. Good, they were done. Smith motioned the soldiers, Ralse, and Stephens back.

Without fanfare, and with finality: "Good bye, Mr. Hudson."

The head soldier depressed a switch on the charges, and a loud explosion sounded from the walls and the ceiling. A heavy avalanche of concrete, old-fashioned style blocks, and some pipes filled the chamber and corridor with choking dust. When it finally cleared, Agent Smith and Dr. Ralse's party were standing in front of what had just been an alcove that housed control valves to the airport's irrigation system for Terminal A; runway shoulders and other green spaces. The chipped and crumbled blocks and building materials creaked; some created smaller avalanches, but soon settled into a firmly packed plug. Soon the rustle of chalk and dust left. Now the alcove was a sealed room with one additional occupant to keep the pipes company: the unfortunate Warren Hudson.

Stephens sighed, all this trouble just to leave him there to suffocate.

"All right, let's get moving!" Ralse moved with all the imperious prissy-ness his bulk would allow. "Our helicopter is waiting at-"

"What's that?" Stephens looked back at the wall the explosives had just created.

"What's what?" Ralse asked.

Stephens pointed at the wall. "It's still settling."

"Interesting." Smith motioned the soldiers to turn on their flashlights. They did, and the wall was still settling; small clumps and pieces of debris were slowly cascading and bouncing off of the larger pieces.

Ralse took a step forward on the path back down the corridor. "We don't have time for this, gentlemen!"

"Yeah, you're right." Stephens nodded, turning to follow Ralse.

"It matters not now." Smith shrugged as he and the soldiers under his command moved almost as one back up the corridor.

The newly created wall exploded just then, sending the concrete shards, bricks, pipes, and other debris bursting outward in a circular pattern. The blast knocked Smith and the four soldiers up against the wall and made Stephens and Ralse trip. The stress from the previous use of explosives and this new explosion was too much for the overhead lanterns. Any light not destroyed or burned out along with the electrical wiring was now laying in pieces and spools across the corridor floor. A hail of brilliant sparks and the unmistakable scent and sound of electricity, and the lights in the basement went out plunging the hapless group of conspirators into near total darkness.

"Wha-what the fuck?" Stephens screamed after he got to his feet and heaved Ralse onto his.

"Smith!" Ralse bellowed.

Smith and the other soldiers recovered admirably, they turned towards where the new explosion had issued from, and for the first time in Smith's life, he actually gaped in open, fearful astonishment as brilliant rays of green-blue light illuminated the darkness around them.

Ahead of them... all around them, the tinkling sound of chains chimed.

The dust cleared. Where a wall of debris had been before there was nothing once more. In the center of the alcove, where the chair of chains stood with Warren Hudson bound to it... there were only pieces and melted shards of chain links and the chair itself. Standing over this wreckage was something very similar to what the surveillance records from earlier that day had recorded.

"...Magnificent," Smith breathed almost soundlessly, he turned to his normally square-jawed subordinates. The soldiers were now as slack-jawed as Ralse and Stephens. Smith only nodded to the commander of this small group. A small, thin, regretful smile. Smith held just long enough that the green-blue column of light resolved just enough to see Warren Hudson, eyes closed, now dressed in the elaborate brown-uniform and body ornamentation that he remembered from the surveillance record. The chains that had bound his wrists, however, had not been melted or blasted to pieces... they now hung loosely from his wrists and hands, seeming to float around him like kelp in the sea. Obviously, what he had heard and seen in the recording could not hold a candle to the kind of power Smith could sense emanating from Hudson at this moment.

Warren opened his eyes, locking his gaze with Smith. Warren grinned.

"Kill him!" Smith ordered.

In motions well-practiced and exquisitely honed, the soldiers decided to forgo their pistols; snapped magazines into compact machine gun frames hidden on their belts, took aim, and fired in the space of about three seconds. Smith soon joined in with his own silver pistol.

Ralse covered his ears, and Stephens drew his own pistol, but he couldn't get a good aim at Hudson. Stephens' hand shook as he held the weapon. This whole situation had gone so wrong, so fast! Stephens-for the first time-had wished he had never met Ralse or Smith. Their grand promises had started to die first in sealing Warren away-and now completely by a column of dazzling green and blue light.

The corridor and alcove were once again obscured in smoke, this time from heavy weapon's fire. The rounds blasted into the center of the column of light, aiming for every part of Warren that could be targeted. None of the shots connected. They just seemed to disappear; absorbed into the column of light.

The magazines soon were exhausted. Smith ordered them to reload and continue firing. For the first time, the soldiers under his command showed some hesitation, but they moved to obey-

"I gave you the chance." Warren's voice seemed perfectly normal, even as everyone else was beginning to feel the hairs on the back of their necks' begin to stand up and a strange tingling in the pit of their stomachs. "You have one more. Let me go."

All weapons were reloaded, aimed again, fired.

Chains answered the two soldiers on either side of Smith. Warren in a lightning fast motion manipulated the chains on his wrists and snapped them out of the alcove-striking two soldiers, piercing through their heads. Smith was greeted with a curious hail of warm particles of moist goo flying into his eyes, blinding him.

Warren advanced out of the alcove, he willed the remaining chains to snap off of his wrists, and a proud blue blade burned to life as he observed the two decapitated soldiers crumple to the ground. Smith tore his sunglasses off his head, clearing his eyes and briefly confirming that the stuff that was in his eyes was, yes indeed, the brains of some of his trusted subordinates.  
Warren spared a look at his felled adversaries, 'I'm sorry,' he inwardly winced before returning his attention to those who remained.

He had their attention. From the smell of it, someone had lost bladder and bowel control, too.

"I warned you," Warren said coldly, deliberately. "If any of you value your lives, I suggest you leave." He allowed himself a small, bitter smile. "Please, carry a message to your masters... Light will not be extinguished so easily."

Warren could practically see them shaking in their boots. Some were just scared, some utterly amazed still, some wanted to stay even but as soon as Stephens beat a hasty retreat, Ralse and then the other two remaining soldiers did so, and finally Smith who didn't even spare a look or comment back at him.

000

TO BE CONTINUED


End file.
